


Seven Devils

by please_dont



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Critical, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But also, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, F/M, Found Family, Horcruxes, Long, SI-OC, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Tom Riddle Redemption, Tom Riddle's Diary, Wordcount: Over 100.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 195,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24196849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/please_dont/pseuds/please_dont
Summary: “Are you implying that I am responsible for Voldemort’s actions?” Dumbledore’s voice had finally turned cold.“No, I’m saying you’re responsible for neglecting a young boy! You treated him with nothing but suspicion and coldness, and when he grew up suspicious and cold you took that as confirmation that you were always right about him.”“I assume you have a reason for laying these heavy charges at my feet,” said Dumbledore quietly.She sighed. “I just think… maybe you should take your own advice and try to solve this problem with love, not destruction. You don’t have to destroy a Horcrux. You can heal it.”“You speak of remorse,” Dumbledore didn’t sound impressed. “If I may, I see very little chance of convincing Voldemort to feel empathy for the things he has done –”“Not Voldemort,” she interrupted. “Tom.”“You are suggesting that we use Voldemort’s first Horcrux to reanimate sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle.” Dumbledore's tone left much to be desired.
Comments: 505
Kudos: 599





	1. Pressure Plus Heat

**Author's Note:**

> I got a text document with a 15 000 word story plan and it's time to fuckin party (slams head into garage door)

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **HOSPITAL BEDS ARE** are universally recognisable even if you’ve never been in a hospital before. The pressure of the bedspread over tucked in the single bed pressing in on you, the stiffness of sheets, the slight roughness of them, the unfamiliar pillows. She knew she was in a hospital bed before she even opened her eyes.

Someone was sitting her up, helping her drink something acrid and slightly fizzy. It tasted like the antiseptic mouthwash she’d had to have after getting a tooth removed, but thicker and stronger. The sickly bubbles raced down her throat and filled her stomach with nausea, and she groaned and turned away. Distantly over the spinning queasiness she could hear voices, but the sickness was getting worse and she knew she had to fall asleep as soon as possible to escape it keeping her in a horrible limbo of conscious nausea. She let her whole body go limp and thankfully let sleep come.

It was dark when she could finally open her eyes. The high stone vaulted ceiling stretched up above her. She frowned. No hospital where she lived looked like this. The strangeness shook the sleepiness from her head and she sat up with effort. The room around her looked like the photos of old hospitals she’d seen in her medical history course; metal framed single beds tightly wrapped in white sheets all lined up in the stone chamber. A warm orange light shone from the far end of the room through a peaked stone doorway – the orderly’s office perhaps.

She tried to call out to whoever was on duty but her voice caught in a horrible thickness in her throat and she choked. Clearing her throat, she tried again, but her voice came out thin and creaky like she always sounded after a bad cold.

“Hello?” she called, her weak voice not getting far. She propped herself up further, cleared her throat again. “Hello?”

A face appeared in the window, someone peaking up from their desk. They immediately stood and opened the door, bustling over busily.

“You should not be straining yourself,” the woman said, busily wringing her hands before she even came close. She wore a long white apron and an old-fashioned headdress. There was something eerily familiar about the woman like seeing a childhood friend’s parents for the first time in years.

“Sorry,” she croaked in reply. The woman pushed her gently but definitely back onto the pillows and with the same firm hand, held up her chin and peered down into her eyes.

“Hmm,” the woman said, sounding dissatisfied. “Perhaps time for another dose.”

She pulled a flask of elegant purple glass with a huge rounded base and thin reaching neck from the bedside table next to the bed. “This is essence of valerian,” the woman said, seeing the concerned expression she shot at the bottle. “It’s used to treat severe cases of time sickness.”

“Time sickness,” she repeated disbelievingly, but allowed the woman to give her a glass half filled with the silvery green liquid. There were tiny purple bubbles forming even lines up the sides of the glass and fizzing on the surface.

“Go on,” said the woman, nodding at her.

She tentatively sipped – the same unpleasant taste hit her. She grimaced.

“Trust me, drinking it isn’t as bad as what’ll happen if you don’t drink it,” the woman said grimly, straightening the sheets on her bed around her as she sipped at the acrid liquid. As soon as the last drop was gone, the woman took the glass from her and placed it back with the bottle.

“Thanks,” she told the woman, “could I ask –” but she stopped. Before she could finish her question, the woman had produced a long thin stick from her apron and tapped the glass curtly. It gave a little rattle and the liquid residue vanished.

Seeing the wide-eyed expression on her face, the woman raised an eyebrow. “Is it so surprising to sterilise equipment? You have a paltry view of my establishment indeed.” She stowed away her wand in the folds of the white apron again. Her _wand._

“No, I –” the nausea swam in her stomach again, and she shut her eyes against the feeling. “Sorry, I just –”

“Rest,” said the woman, sternly. “I will attend you in the morning. You have a visitor who is eager to speak with you.”

She didn’t even reply, just let blissful sleep wash away the confusion and nausea bubbling away in her stomach.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The bright morning sun woke her as curtains around the room sprang apart, seemingly without assistance.

“Good morning,” the woman from last night said briskly as she bustled around the room, wand in hand. “I’ve prepared your morning dose,” she nodded at the half-filled glass and bulbous bottle beside the bed.

Feeling increasingly confused at the surreal circumstances, she dutifully gulped at the horrible medicine. “Thanks,” she rasped, voice still weak.

“My name is Madam Pomfrey,” the woman said as she waved the wand again and both the bottle and glass vanished into thin air. “And you are?”

There was a beat of silence before she burst out laughing, the thick feeling in her throat mangling it into a horrible hoarse sound. She only stopped at ‘Madam Pomfrey’s growingly sour look at her outburst. “Sorry,” croaked, “just – you know, it’s kind of funny…”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the joke,” Madam Pomfrey said coolly.

If this was a prank, the woman was committing to pulling it off _hard._ There was not a hint of breaking script on her face, which was even more impressive when she brandished the wand again and the crumpled blanket straightened itself obediently.

She couldn’t help it – maybe this was a prank, maybe an extensive role play experience, she didn’t know, but the magic tricks were pushing her over the edge. “How are you _doing_ that?” She exclaimed incredulously.

Madam Pomfrey froze. “I beg your pardon?”

“The tricks,” she prompted enthusiastically. “I get the set, and the act, but –” she craned her head to look for strings on the blanket, or the curtains, “– I can’t figure out how you’re pulling that stuff off!”

Madam Pomfrey’s expression had turned into one of alarm, and before either of them could speak again, the stone peaked door opened behind her.

If there had been any doubt in her mind that this prank was committing to itself, that doubt was extinguished when she saw the figure walking towards the two of them with a pleasant expression on his wizened face. The beard, the hair, the garish gold and purple robes, even the half-moon glasses on his long nose.

“Good morning, Poppy,” said the man dressed as Dumbledore conversationally, apparently impervious Madam Pomfrey's stricken expression. He turned to the bed and surveyed her carefully. “It is good to see you’re awake, but what on earth have you done to poor Madam Pomfrey?”

“Albus,” Madam Pomfrey said in a quiet but urgent tone. She led him away until they were just out of earshot and began a serious looking conversation with heads bowed. Madam Pomfrey shot a few anxious looks back over to where she lay in the bed. Watching them, she couldn’t help but admire the man’s ability to nail Dumbledore’s mannerisms. She looked around the room for cameras, expecting to see a little blinking light or tell-tale lens giving away the schtick.

“Pardon me,” Dumbledore said. She looked back down to find him standing beside the bed with hands clasped gently in front of him. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced; my name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the headmaster of this school.”

“Yeah,” she winked, “Hogwarts, I’m very impressed.”

He and Madam Pomfrey shared a glance. “Poppy has told me that you wanted an explanation for her, ah, magic tricks?”

“Yeah!” she said again, having to clear her throat before continuing. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what you’re doing. All this?” She gestured to them. “Very impressive, but I am genuinely curious. How are you pulling that off?”

A long pregnant pause followed her speech. “Poppy, might you fix us some tea?” Dumbledore asked politely. Madam Pomfrey hurried away immediately, and Dumbledore retrieved his own wand from his robes and gave it a small flick. A standard classroom chair appeared next to the bed and he sat.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” She exclaimed. “It’s so convincing!”

She frowned at the chair. There really was no way she could think to fake that. The curtains could have had electronic pulleys to open them, the sheets could have invisible strings pulled by out of sight stagehands, even the self-cleaning cup she thought she could come up with some sort of movie magic way that could be achieved. But the chair… It really did come out of nowhere. She thought about the bottle and glass disappearing before, and the complete seriousness of their acts. Her gaze drifted to the huge diamond leaded glass windows next to her, the expansive grounds she could see from them, the edge of a vast lake visible in the distance, and leading away from the room they were in, the sliver of a giant stone castle–

“What is your name, my dear?” Dumbledore said calmly, folding his hands on his knees.

She stared at him, a horrible sinking feeling creeping up inside her. “Is this real?” She asked in her hoarse voice. She felt stupid to ask, ridiculous, gullible, but something didn’t feel right. If it was a prank, she was starting to fall for it.

“Yes,” he replied simply. “It’s real.”

They sat in silence for a moment whilst she stared out at the bit of castle visible from the window. It stretched away from the Hospital Wing window, forming tall towers with long ribbony flags snaking in the breeze far above.

“This can’t be happening,” she breathed.

“I’m afraid so,” said Dumbledore, forlorn. “The specifics of your circumstance elude me, but I can offer you what information I have.”

She fixed him with a serious eye. “What the heck is going on?”

“You were found by our groundskeeper, Hagrid,” Dumbledore began. “He was on a patrol in the Dark Forest, the woods that border our grounds.” He inclined his head towards the window and sure enough, a fringe of dark swaying trees was just visible in the far distance. “It is a dangerous place for student and teacher alike, a stroke of true luck that he found you before any of its occupants could.”

She shivered involuntarily but if Dumbledore noticed, he chose not to comment. “You were in very poor condition when he brought you to the school. Madam Pomfrey was convinced you only had moments to live, she insisted on treating you on right on the steps of the Great Hall. Only after you were, forgive me, off death’s doorstep did she allow us to move you to the Hospital Wing. I must say, you are quite lucky we are not in school term, I suspect you would have drawn quite the crowd and your recovery would not be so tranquil,” he looked around the empty wing with a genial expression.

“I nearly died?” she croaked.

“Yes,” he replied gravely, “But worry not, you are in the very capable hands of Madam Pomfrey now. You are in no danger.”

“But how did I get here? I don’t live in England.”

Dumbledore surveyed her again. “That I do not know. I first suspected apparition gone afoul, but not only did you have no wand, it has come to light that you are unfamiliar with…”

“Magic,” she finished lamely. “You’re doing real magic.”

He nodded, still watching her closely. “You have some knowledge of magic?”

She sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I read about it, growing up.”

“You have magical relatives?”

“No,” she said, pressing into her eyes to make strange patterns and colours appear. “It’s a children’s story, a book series about Harry Potter. Everyone grew up reading it.”

After a moment of silence, she took her hands away from her eyes, blinking the blurriness away, and looked over at him. Dumbledore’s eyes were intense, affixed on her face.

“About his life?” He asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Yeah,” she said, slightly freaked out at his reaction. “His years at Hogwarts, all the stuff he got up to, you know –” she gestured vaguely with her hands, “Philosopher’s Stone, Chamber of Secrets, all that stuff.”

He did not reply, only looked on. The silence was broken by Madam Pomfrey’s approach holding a laden silver tray which she placed on the table next to her bed.

“Thank you, Poppy,” Dumbledore said, sharing a significant glance with her.

Madam Pomfrey swiftly left without a word.

Dumbledore waved his wand and two teacups filled themselves in mid-air. She watched, enraptured.

“Milk? Sugar?” Dumbledore said.

“Uh, yes thanks, both.”

The milk jug sprang to life and two sugar cubes plopped daintily into the tea, and the cup flew towards her, only just managing to hold the tea in its gold trimmed rim. “Thanks,” she said lamely.

“I’m afraid I still don’t know how to address you,” Dumbledore sipped his own tea.

Her moment of pause was perfectly hidden by her sip of tea, but she knew she had only a few seconds to decide what to say. If this was real, she didn’t know if it was wise to use her name. How obvious would it be if she lied? What would she say? The moment was being drawn out to its absolute maximum as she swallowed the tea and–

“Marina,” she said as she lowered the teacup.

 _‘What the fuck_.’

How on earth did ‘Marina’ even come out of her mouth, what even was _Marina_ –

“And your surname?” Dumbledore’s tone was indecipherable.

Panic surged. “Diamond.”

Ah.

There it was.

She mentally facepalmed in incredulous disbelief at her own mind. Why the fuck had _Marina and the Diamonds_ been at the forefront of her thoughts? 

“Diamond?” Dumbledore repeated.

“Er –” she swirled the tea around her cup, trying to think of a convincing recovery. “No, actually its _Diamant_ , with the ‘a-n-t’ at the end, but people usually just say it like diamond though. It’s… French.”

_‘For fuck’s sake, ‘convincing recovery’ does not mean, ‘ramble about the way French people pronounce suffixes.’’_

“I see,” Dumbledore said placidly. She was about one thousand percent sure she did not pull that off. “Well, I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Diamant.” He pronounced it somewhere in the middle between French and English.

How could she have picked such an awkward sounding last name? ‘ _Surely there’s a restart button,’_ she thought cynically, ‘ _and I get another pass at this_.’

“Don’t worry about that, just call me Marina,” she said sheepishly. “No one really goes by surname where I’m from anyway, it would feel weird to start now.”

“I see,” he said evenly, sipping his tea. “Now, Marina, tell me more about these books.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure what you want to know, they were just stories I read growing up, no one thought that they were secretly true if that’s what you mean –”

“Forgive me, you mentioned the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Yeah, that’s the first one,” she replied, a bit confused.

He assessed her a moment, as if weighing his options. “The Philosopher’s Stone is currently hidden, are you able to tell me where that is?”

“You don’t know where it is?” she asked incredulously.

“Forgive me,” he looked almost embarrassed. “This is perhaps a rather crude test… these are tense times. If you know where it is hidden, I feel I may proceed with a certain degree of trust…”

For the first time, Marina really thought about who she was talking to. Dumbledore is alive. That means it’s before a certain point in the Harry Potter world’s timeline. Things haven’t all happened yet, she was somewhere in the middle of it.

“Well,” she said slowly, “I really think it could be one of three places, depending on when this is. Like, the date.”

“It is Friday the 17th of May, 1991,” Dumbledore supplied cheerfully. He assessed a complicated clockface that sat on his wrist. “And it is 9:41 in the morning.”

Marina blanched. _1991._ Harry hadn’t even started his _first_ _year._ Before she let her thoughts run away with all the implications of the date, she focused on the question she had been asked. Before Harry arrived at Hogwarts, but only just. That meant-

“It’s at Gringott’s then. Vault 713.”

Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled. “Indeed.” He placed the cup of tea he was holding on the bedside table. “Marina, I feel I must be honest,” he began gravely. “I confess, while the magic responsible for how you came to be here remains a mystery, I do believe there is a reason for your presence.”

“A reason? Like, a job?” Marina asked apprehensively.

“Precisely,” he said. “I believe that there is something in your knowledge of this world, some matter in the perspective you hold that is crucial somehow. You know of things that will come to pass, or rather, _may_ come to pass…” Dumbledore trailed off, looking deep in thought.

“What do you mean? Are you saying you want me to help you change the future? I thought that wasn’t really possible in time travel?” Marina’s head was swimming.

“Normally, yes, time travel resolves itself as a closed loop, but in these circumstances… I suspect more powerful forces at play than timeturners.”

She thought about what he was saying, that there must be something significant she could bring this world having read the books and knowing the way things play out.

“Sir,” Marina said, the ease of adopting Harry’s way of addressing Dumbledore not lost on her, “There has to be something else you can tell me. If you’re looking for helpful things I could tell you now, before anything has even begun, the list is endless. I could just tell you how everything happens, what goes wrong, how to stop it… I wouldn’t know where to begin-“

“Forgive me,” Dumbledore said again as he held up his hand, “I did not make myself clear. I am sure there are any number of things you could tell me to be helpful, but magic this powerful is rarely intended to merely be… helpful.” He leaned forward, his eyes intense. “I want you to think beyond helpful. What do you bring to this world that no one else could?”

The words rang in her ears. The pressure of his statement was unbearable. Ideas flitted through her mind like swarming birds – telling him about Quirrell having Voldemort stuck on the back of his head, stopping him from putting on the Gaunt ring, how to kill the basilisk, who Scabbers really is, that the Triwizard cup is really a portkey, that Harry has a piece of Voldemort’s soul in him, that Sirius is innocent, that Mad-Eye Moody will be replaced by Barty Crouch Jnr in disguise, that the locket is a fake–

Just like that, her mind clicks. It’s 1991. Dumbledore doesn’t even know about Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Surely that’s it. Thoughts racing, she tried to think of anything that would change the game more than that, something more significant, more important than knowing the truth about Voldemort’s soul.

“You have something,” Dumbledore said. It wasn’t a question – his eyes had never left her face.

“I think so,” she said tentatively.

He picked up the cup of tea and gave it a demure sip, eyes sparking. “Tell me what you know.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Listen I'm obsessed with writing stories that have internal logic and can stand on their own feet. If you want to skip to the part where Tom Riddle actually shows up may I direct you to Chapter 5.  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	2. Thinking With Fractions

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **DUMBLEDORE SAT BACK** back in his chair looking troubled. Marina couldn’t help but wonder if he was uncomfortable – they had been talking for hours and the chair looked like it was straight out of an early 2000s school gym back room. He had pressed her to be vigilant in how much she told him, concerned that unpredictable consequences could arise from changing the timeline too much. Marina wondered if it was really because of possible danger, or if he just knew that if they changed too much, her knowledge would become moot and he’d lose the upper hand he’d just gained.

“I always knew that Tom had strayed into magic far darker than most could even imagine, but seven Horcruxes…” he said quietly. “It is a miracle his soul even survived.”

“Until the Horcruxes were destroyed, nothing could really kill him. Whilst part of his soul exists, he can’t really die. That’s what you and Harry do in his sixth year.”

Dumbledore looked up at Marina sharply. “We manage to discover them?”

“You destroy them,” she said, “well, not you, a few different people actually do the destroying –”

“How is it done? Destroying the Horcrux?” He said intently.

“Well, different ones are done in different ways. The diary was destroyed with –”

“The diary?”

“Oh right, yeah, Tom had a diary at school that he made into a Horcrux when he opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed Myrtle with the basilisk.”

There was a pregnant pause. “The basilisk?” Dumbledore repeated, breezily.

“Yeah, that’s the monster in the Chamber of Secrets. Sorry,” Marina added awkwardly, seeing the expression on Dumbledore’s face.

“I suppose we shall cross that bridge when we come to it, as they say,” he said bracingly. “You were saying?”

“Right, so when Harry kills the basilisk –”

“Harry opens the Chamber of Secrets?” Dumbledore said, looking alarmed.

“No! Well yes, but – sorry I’m not explaining this well. So, the diary is the Horcrux which made the first time the Chamber is opened. _Then_ when Voldemort comes to power, he gives the diary to the M… to a family that follows him. They keep it safe until next year when they slip it into Gi… sorry, a new student’s things before she comes to Hogwarts. She starts writing in it, not knowing what it is. The Horcrux thrives on proximity, especially the way she was writing in it. She didn’t have any other friends or anything, so she sort of poured her heart into it. The Horcrux became strong enough to take over her mind, made her kill all the roosters and open the Chamber.

“Basically, long story short, Harry and his friends figure it out and he goes into the Chamber, meets Tom – oh sorry, I forgot to say, the Horcrux gets strong enough to have like a physical form again. Anyway, Harry kills the basilisk with Gryffindor’s sword which he gets out of the Sorting Hat – I don’t even know how to start explaining that one sorry, and yeah he stabs the basilisk in the head. He used a basilisk fang to stab the diary which destroyed it.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said. If that were true, Marina was impressed – she felt like her retelling of the events was butchering them beyond comprehension.

“Well anyway, after he stabbed the basilisk, the sword became sort of imbibed with the venom because, you know, Goblin made and all that. So later when you guys are hunting Horcruxes it becomes the number one weapon to use.”

“If I am understanding you, basilisk venom is the only way we know can destroy Horcruxes?”

“Ah, not quite. Fiendfyre also works.”

Dumbledore looks disgusted. “How on earth did we discover that?”

“It wasn’t you guys, it was – someone else. By accident. But they didn’t know what they were doing.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to. How familiar are you with Fiendfyre?”

“Not very,” Marina shook her head. “In the book it just says it’s cursed fire that can’t be put out with water or anything.”

“It is much worse than that,” Dumbledore said with a dark expression. “Fiendfyre burns on a very deadly fuel – one’s own lifeforce. The experienced user can control it, to a degree, but what is burned up is gone for good. It is also extremely rare to find an experienced user, since many foolhardy young witches and wizards try their hand at it, fail to contain it, and burn their entire life away in the process, causing irrevocable harm as they do so. It is an ugly, brutal sort of magic.”

“I didn’t know,” Marina said, looking at her hands. She wondered who had told Crabbe about the spell, if they had explained to him everything Dumbledore had explained to her, if they bothered to tell him what the spell was really doing.

“Alas, it appears the list of methods to destroy Horcruxes is so short we mustn’t discount Fiendfyre quite yet,” Dumbledore said grimly. “Can I ask – what were the Horcruxes Tom made?”

“So there’s the diary, that was the first one. Then the Gaunt ring, from his descendants. Then Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup, and Ravenclaw’s diadem. Then he made an accidental Horcrux that he didn’t know about when he tried to kill Harry – I’ll tell you about that later- and finally he made Nagini into a Horcrux.”

“Living things can be made into Horcruxes?” Dumbledore said, looking equal parts intrigued and appalled.

“Yeah, but it’s apparently not recommended. The Horcrux becomes entirely dependent on the survival of its host. In normal items that’s all well and good, but living things will all die, so once they do so, the Horcrux has no container and can’t survive.”

Dumbledore looked deep in thought. “Does this mean… Harry…”

“Yes and no,” Marina said. “Without saying too much, when he finally confronts Voldemort, he gets hit with the Killing Curse. It blasts away the bit of soul in him, but because of him sacrificing himself to save everyone, and also his mum’s sacrifice for him, he doesn’t die.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said again. “And Voldemort never sensed he was destroying a part of his own soul?”

“I think Voldemort had broken up his soul so many times into such a small fragment that he couldn’t feel anything from them anymore. He doesn’t even know you guys destroy all of them until he goes to check on the items himself months later. By that point – I calculated it once hold on, I think he had less than one percent of his soul left in his actual body?”

The same mix of intrigue and appal wrestled on Dumbledore’s face. “This is very valuable information,” he said, finally. “It is exactly the magnitude I was expecting when I thought…”

Marina looked away, uncomfortable. “Actually, I don’t think this is what I’m supposed to bring to the table, sir.”

Dumbledore looked at her over his spectacles. “There is more?”

“Sort of,” she mumbled. “It’s just… I know you said to keep names and details of events to a minimum but it’s sort of essential I say… there’s a war, sir.”

Dumbledore was silent.

“Voldemort returns, he slowly regains power, and a couple years later he starts another war. A lot of people die, and most of the people doing the fighting are children. Harry and his friends never go back to Hogwarts for their seventh year because they have to go hunt for the Horcruxes, plus Hogwarts gets invaded by Death Eaters.

“What I’m saying is… a lot of it is… ah…” Marina felt extremely awkward about what she was about to say.

“You may speak freely, Marina, even if it is hard to hear,” Dumbledore said in an even tone, apparently anticipating her words.

“Well, a lot of that happens because of you,” she said, not making eye contact. “You move Harry around like a pawn piece, giving and withholding affection when it suits, telling him just enough information to meet your own ends without thinking about how it will affect him, you even consciously raise him to slaughter at the right moment once you find out about the Horcrux in him.

“And it’s not just Harry, it’s everyone, even children. You only see them as means to your ends, and your doing so is what started all this in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” Dumbledore said curiously, apparently impervious to the criticism.

Marina sighed a little impatiently. “No offense sir, but Harry Potter and Tom Riddle are effectively the same kid when they arrive at Hogwarts. Half-blood wizards, orphaned, grew up without any friends, poor, very smart and naturally talented, revered by their peers – they even talk about Hogwarts the same way, that it’s the only home they’ve ever known. It’s hard not to notice the fact that you treated them completely differently.

“You never liked Tom, I think you saw something in him you didn’t know how to predict, and when he finally came to Hogwarts and everyone around him was wrapped up in whatever act he was putting on, you were the only one to see through it. He knew you did too, and he resented you for it. But you… you saw this unhappy _eleven-year-old_ boy, and decided he was already too far gone for you to reach? You treated him with nothing but suspicion and coldness, and when he grew up suspicious and cold you took that as confirmation that you were always right about him.”

“Are you implying that I am responsible for Voldemort’s actions?” Dumbledore’s voice had finally turned cold.

“No, I’m saying you’re responsible for neglecting a young boy in need! And I really think it weighed on your conscious, I think you’ve had these thoughts before across the years, because when Harry shows up you act completely differently. You reach out to him, mentor him, help him to understand himself. You may have had selfish motives for it, but at least you didn’t leave him alone in the dark! I never understood that, how someone as smart and as experienced as you could look at a little boy and decide he’s just fundamentally bad. It’s so against the principle of love you preach everywhere else. _No one_ is intrinsically evil, no one, especially not vulnerable children. We are all a product of our environment, and you gave him nothing but affirmation that there is no point in reaching to be good. That goodness doesn’t want him.

“You were the only one who truly saw him, and you turned away in disgust. I’m not surprised he hated you.”

“I assume you have a reason for laying these heavy charges at my feet,” Dumbledore said quietly. The anger that Marina had glimpsed in him had vanished behind a wall. 

She sighed. “I just think… maybe you should take your own advice and try to solve this problem with love, not destruction.”

“If Tom Riddle struggled with love, Voldemort finds it impossible.” Dumbledore said heavily. “I suspect the damage he has done to his soul prevents him from even a sincere consideration of it. Love has always eluded him.”

“Yeah, love has eluded him,” Marina said angrily. “Just not always in the way you mean.”

They stared at each other, neither budging.

“What do you suggest then?” Dumbledore said delicately.

“I’ve thought for a while about a way… a possibility that things could turn out differently. Better. You don’t _have_ to destroy a Horcrux. You can heal it.”

“You speak of remorse,” Dumbledore didn’t sound impressed. “If I may, I see very little chance of convincing Voldemort to feel empathy for the things he has done –”

“Not Voldemort,” Marina interrupted. “Tom.”

“Although long range time travel is physically possible, you yourself have suffered its consequences. I do not think that –”

“No, no,” Marina waved her hand. “We don’t need to go back to the 1940s, we have Tom right now.”

Dumbledore did not immediately reply, he only gave the most minute nod which she took as an invitation to explain.

“You remember I said that Voldemort only has less than 1% of his soul left? And that the diary was the first Horcrux he made?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“That means that the diary has more soul in it than Voldemort has had for the last fifty years. And you remember I said that when Gi… when the student who was given the diary wrote in it, the Horcrux was able to get stronger, eventually manifesting?”

“You are suggesting that we use Voldemort’s first Horcrux to reanimate sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle.” The tone Dumbledore said it in left much to be desired.

“Not _just_ that, we reanimate him, teach him how to feel remorse, get him to reabsorb the Horcruxes, and avoid the needless suffering and death of the countless child soldiers you rely on the first time around,” Marina said icily.

“You are lucky you shared such vital information about Voldemort’s defences before posing this plan. If I had heard it beforehand, I might think you were a Death Eater attempting to duplicate the Dark Lord,” Dumbledore levelled her with his x-ray stare, and Marina met his eyes defiantly.

“I’m not trying to make another Dark Lord, I’m trying to give you a way to defeat the one we’ve already got with the one type of magic you always say is the most powerful. Don’t you see how backwards and hypocritical it is to repeat that love is the most important magic out there, but fail to deliver it to the one person you could see needed it the most? If you had met him as Voldemort, I’d understand. But to condemn a kid like that, to deprive a child of love… Voldemort may have steered the boat, but you pointed him in that direction.”

Dumbledore made no acknowledgement of her indictment whatsoever. “And how do you suggest we prevent the Horcrux from taking control over whoever is writing in the diary? In your story, Tom was able to make his victim commit violence, possess them –”

“No single person could do this by themselves,” she said. “It would have to be a group. Take shifts, talk for a week each. It would still be hard, I think, but if anything starts happening you just shorten how long you spend with the diary.”

“I must consider what you have suggested,” Dumbledore stood abruptly, and Marina jolted in surprise. “Thank you for your input. Regardless of how we proceed, the information you shared will no doubt prevent at least some of the suffering Voldemort will inflict upon the world. We shall speak again soon, good night Marina.”

He gave a polite incline of his head and left before she could reply.

In the sudden silence of the hospital wing, Marina couldn’t help but wonder if she had made a terrible mistake.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	3. T. M. Riddle

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **A LONG WEEK** passed. Outside, the spring sun streamed down on the fresh landscape and Marina began to see the lushness of summer encroaching on the grounds. Madam Pomfrey ruled the Hospital Wing with an iron fist, and as Marina grew stronger and began to venture outside her bed, her movements were under strict regulation – whether for concern for her recovery or on orders from Dumbledore, Marina couldn’t tell. It amounted to the same thing anyway.

Marina resolved to request books from the library to fill her time. Boredom was a torture to which she was particularly vulnerable, having grown unaccustomed to it with videos, podcasts, and messaging to fill her downtime back in the 21st century. Madam Pomfrey supplied her with the textbooks listed on the first year’s curriculum, and Marina read them ravenously. She had wanted to read these books since she’d first read The Philosopher’s Stone at age 6, had gone over the acceptance letter time and time again, imagining she would receive her own at age 11. It felt like living out her childhood fantasy – over a decade later than expected but that didn’t seem to matter anymore.

She had almost forgotten about her conversation with Dumbledore when he reappeared suddenly the following Friday, startling her where she lay with Adalbert Waffling’s _Magical Theory_ open on her lap.

“Jesus, sir,” she exclaimed, clutching her chest. “I didn’t think you could apparate in Hogwarts grounds?”

“A rule I am yet to break – you must have been very enthralled by that book to miss my approach,” Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. “I must say, I would be happy if half the first years took as much interest in their prescribed texts as you do.”

“Well, it’s a bit different for me isn’t it,” Marina said, tucking a scrap of parchment paper into the pages to mark her place before putting the book aside. “I don’t _have_ to read it.”

“Indeed, curious how being told to do something makes it immensely less appealing,” Dumbledore mused. “How do you feel? Madam Pomfrey tells me you are much recovered.”

“Yeah, I feel pretty much normal,” she smiled. “The bleeding noses have finally stopped, and my fingernails are back to their normal colour,” She splayed out her hands out in front of her – only a hint of the angry reddish purple that had spread through her nail beds remained, lining the edge of her cuticles.

“Excellent news,” he said cheerily. “I hope you don’t mind but Madam Pomfrey has been taking extensive notes on your condition – we suspect you might be the first person to attempt and survive time travel of this degree. The last known individual only made it three years.”

Although he said it in a warm tone, Marina felt a chill sink in her stomach. She hadn’t even meant to ‘attempt’ it, as he’d put. Someone, or something had put her life on the line, and a risky line at that. “That’s fine,” she said feebly.

“Now then,” Dumbledore said more seriously. “To discuss what you proposed last week.” He sat down on the bed adjacent to hers and fixed her with an intense gaze. “What you suggested is a dangerous plan. There are any number of risks, opportunities for things to go awry, and unknowable variables. However…” He looked over the rim of this spectacles. “I must admit, you made some astute points. There is a sense to your plan, and in the criticisms that you dealt me. Perhaps in young Tom’s case I did not conduct myself in the most… constructive manner.”

Marina scoffed slightly, which Dumbledore blithely chose to ignore. “I only ask that you consider this; if we move forward with this plan, you must accept that in the case of failure, if Tom is unwilling – or unable to learn remorse – I am afraid I will have no other choice.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Marina muttered. “You’ll destroy the Horcruxes if things go wrong.”

“You sound unhappy,” he replied quietly. “Even if this plan fails, you will have helped us find and destroy Voldemort’s defenses. It is no small contribution to render Voldemort vulnerable in this fight.”

She shrugged. “That’s just the same as the books, though. If you’re right and I’m here to do something really important… it doesn’t make sense for that to be just following out the same path.”

“If you agree to the terms, we may proceed,” Dumbledore said, peering at her with an even expression.

Marina sighed, sure that this would come back to bite her at some point. “Sure.”

Dumbledore stood and gave a small smile. “Then let’s begin."

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“This is a stupid idea,” she hissed from underneath the folds of the cloak. “What do I do if I can’t find it? Or if they really do have defences on the door?”

“Stay calm,” Dumbledore said quietly, patiently waiting in front of the elaborate and oversized front door. “If you do not find it, we will try again with a different approach.”

Before she could reply the massive door opened.

“Ah, Professor Dumbledore,” sneered a very tall blond man with a pinched, pale face. “A pleasure as always…” His mouth twisted like he’d smelled something very bad as he said it.

“Lucius,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “It has been a while has it not?”

“Quite,” Lucius smiled coldly. “Do come in.” He looked like he wanted nothing less than for Dumbledore to come in, but he stiffly stood aside to let him enter.

Dumbledore stepped blithely across the doorway past Lucius Malfoy who still wore the ugly expression on his face. Marina scurried in behind him as quietly as she could, nervously holding her breath.

“Will Narcissa be joining us? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of seeing her since graduation.” Dumbledore was saying as he followed Lucius to the left of the entrance chamber.

“She’s waiting for us in the sitting room,” Lucius said shortly, not looking at Dumbledore. “She is – as I am – rather taken aback by your visit, Dumbledore.”

“Alas, Lucius, there are some things I must discuss with you both…”

Their voices faded away as they walked through a large open doorway and further down a hall. After a few seconds, Marina couldn’t hear them at all.

She waited a few seconds longer, dead still in the silence. Only after several long moments had passed did she consider herself safe and let out a long sigh of relief. So far, the plan was working. She turned to the right and made her way over to where Dumbledore had advised her to search. On the plans he had covertly borrowed from the Ministry there was a large blank wall along a corridor that led off the main entrance chamber that he thought could be where the door to the Malfoy’s secret cellar was hidden. Marina vaguely remembered a few of the books saying something about it being where the Malfoys hid their illegal dark magic goods when the Ministry raided their house. Her jaw clenched a little, thinking about its other use in the series – the makeshift Death Eater prison. It was a lot worse thinking about it when you were right on top of it, rather than simply reading about it on a page.

She made her way down the hall, and sure enough a long stretch of icy, perfectly smooth stone bricks stretched along the left side. There was a suspicious gap in the lavish art and ornate wrought iron wall lamps that decorated the walls of the manor. She reached out from under the invisibility cloak to touch the wall, trying to feel any sign of a door. The masonry was so perfectly formed that even where she saw the seams between the broad bricks, her fingers could feel nothing but smooth, uninterrupted stone.

“Dammit,” she muttered. Tracing her hand across the whole stretch of blank wall with no results, she turned her attention to the floor. She made it the whole way back to where she had started without seeing anything. Panic started to boil up in her chest, seeping into her blood as her breath quickened and she felt her face turning hot. Despite what Dumbledore had said, this was their best and cleanest chance to get the diary, and if she failed….

Thinking recklessly, she reached up to pull on one of the wall-mounted lamps in case Malfoy manor had 2000s spy movie mechanics and one of the lights was a secret lever. She had barely closed her fingers around it when there was a horrible flickering in her peripheral vision and she froze, a hot wave of fear rolling across her body.

There was someone in the hall with her. They made their way towards her, a bizarre almost rectangular silhouette that wobbled oddly at each shuffling footstep. Suddenly, she realised why they looked so strange. Thoughts raced through her mind as she weighed her options, tried to calculate risk and chance.

_Fuck it._

“Dobby,” she hissed quietly.

The small figure gave a small shriek and dropped the two-metre stack of perfectly folded linen.

“Ah shit, I’m sorry,” she rushed forward to help stack the linen again, and only after a moment did she realise she had neglected to remove the invisibility cloak. To Dobby, a pair of disembodied arms were picking up the sheets and attempting to balance them as neatly as they had been on top of each other. “Oh, sorry,” she said again, pulling the cloak off her head. “Hi, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Are – are you supposed to be here, miss?” Squeaked Dobby in a frightened voice. His bulbous, luminous eyes were darting around the hall frantically.

“No,” Marina said honestly, “but I’m here for a good reason. Look, Dobby, I could really use your help.”

“M – my help?” Dobby was backing away towards the main hall, towards alerting the Malfoys.

“Dobby, please, just listen to me,” Marina whispered urgently. “It’s about – do you know about the diary?”

Dobby froze, eyes locking onto her. He said nothing, but he had stopped moving towards the entrance hall, and Marina soldiered on.

“They plan to do terrible things with it, I know they do, you might have heard it too. They plan to get it into Hogwarts, open the Chamber of Secrets, release the thing within. If they succeed, a lot of people – children, they’re going to get hurt. They could be killed. And You-Know-Who will return…”

Dobby’s terrified eyes hadn’t moved from her face, and she could see his small skeletal chest rising and falling rapidly under his stained pillowcase.

“Listen – you have a chance to help me, to help Harry Potter –”

At the name, Dobby’s expression flickered with recognition. Marina’s heart soared with hope. “Yes! Harry Potter, you can help him too! I have to get that diary Dobby. If I don’t, he’s in danger. Everyone at Hogwarts is – everyone _everywhere_ –”

There was a sudden CLANK from further into the house which Marina instantly recognised as the sound of a door being opened. The distant, indistinguishable voices of Lucius, Dumbledore, and a woman who must be Narcissa started echoing towards them. Dumbledore’s alibi meeting had run its course, time was running out.

Marina turned back to Dobby in desperation. “Dobby, please –”

CRACK. The house-elf vanished. Marina sat back amongst the scattered linen in defeat. She’d really botched it. There was no chance that Dobby wouldn’t tell the Malfoys what had happened. Dumbledore would be in the line of fire too; it would be obvious that he was the distraction and–

CRACK.

Marina’s head shot up and she saw Dobby standing before her again. Before either of them could speak, sharp footsteps sounded through the hall and Marina hastily pulled the invisibility cloak over her head just as Lucius appeared at the nearby doorway.

“Elf,” he hissed, storming towards Dobby. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Master –”

Before Dobby could even breath a word of apology, Lucius gave him a short, brutal looking kick. Dobby shrieked in pain as he fell against the wall. Marina’s heart gave a horrible swoop at the attack and started thudding even faster, anger mixing with adrenaline.

“Clean this mess up,” Lucius spat. “How dare you embarrass me whilst a guest is in the house. Even one such as Dumbledore…”

Lucius gave Dobby one last kick which threw the elf onto the pile of sheets with a yelp, before he stood to his full height, straightened the ornate, silver embroidered collar of his robe, and calmly strode back towards the entrance hall.

As soon as he was out of sight, Marina reached forward to help Dobby to his feet. “Dobby… oh my god, are you alright?”

Dobby looked up at her in surprise, apparently distracted from the pain of the blows. “Miss asked Dobby if – if he is alright?” His huge eyes began to fill with tears and Marina knew all too well where that was going.

“Of course – listen I have to go, please don’t say anything to the Malfoys. I know that’s hard but –”

“Does miss still want…?” From under his armpit, hidden in the disgusting pillowcase, Dobby retrieved a thin, black book.

Marina could have cried herself. She pulled the elf into a hug without thinking. “Thank you, Dobby,” she breathed. “You’re the _best._ ”

Pulling away, she did her best to ignore the tears streaming down the little elf’s face as she took the outstretched diary and stood. Something didn’t feel right about leaving Dobby here, and with a horrible sinking feeling she realised that by taking the diary now she had destroyed the mechanism through which Harry freed Dobby later in the series.

“Listen Dobby, keep your eyes and ears open okay? They’ll notice the diary is gone, they’ll probably suspect Dumbledore, and they’ll probably try something else. Just – be careful okay? I’ll figure out how to get you free, I’ll come back, I promise –”

In the hall, she could hear the Malfoys trying to usher Dumbledore out the door and his belligerently pleasant small talk as he lingered. “But Lucius, you haven’t yet shown me those famous peacocks of yours, I’ve heard so much about them…”

Marina gripped Dobby’s shoulder with her hand, trying to convey the sincerity in her words. He looked back with wide, watery eyes and streaks through the filth on his cheeks from his streaming tears. Heart wrenching, Marina stood and pulled the cloak over her head again, speeding down the hall on the balls of her feet trying to keep as quiet as possible.

Dumbledore was standing at the front door, staring out into the gardens before them as the Malfoys exchanged unpleasant looks behind his back.

“Yes, I see them. Magnificent creatures, peafowls. Some Muggle cultures see them as signs of royalty, you know,” said Dumbledore as he turned back to the pair.

The Malfoys looked deeply offended and simultaneously opened their mouths to retaliate when a shrill, elongated shriek sounded from deeper in the house. Marina grimaced. Dobby’s self-flagellation for helping her had clearly begun. Just as Marina tried to slip past the Malfoys, all three in the group turned to look towards the sound of the cry. Narcissa’s arm came so close to Marina that she had to flatten herself against the stone doorframe. In front of her, only a few millimetres from her face, Marina could make out the elaborate black stitching of bizarre-looking birds on the satin of Narcissa’s robe, and stuck to the side of her arm was a long blonde hair-

“It appears that there are other matters that require your attention,” Dumbledore, significantly more coldly, his gaze piercing as he surveyed the Malfoys as they turned back to face him, having the decency to look somewhat discomfited. “And matters that require mine as well. Thank you for your hospitality, it has been a pleasure. And please… take my warnings into consideration. I am not one to believe in rumours, but if only half of those concerning what you hold in your manor were true, Lucius, Narcissa…” He gave them long, significant looks, refusing to wilt under their deathly glares. “One could only imagine the consequences if Draco brought something from home into Hogwarts…”

Lucius and Narcissa faces were impossibly stormy. It was clear that only the veneer of decorum was keeping them from speaking their minds. Marina slipped past them and touched Dumbledore’s arm gently, signalling her presence. As soon as he felt the touch, Dumbledore turned on his heel and strolled to the edge of the property where he could disparate.

“Did you find it?” Dumbledore said quietly when they were out of earshot of the Malfoys, still watching from their door.

“Yes,” Marina breathed. “But we need to figure out a way to get Dobby out.”

Dumbledore’s posture stiffened slightly. “You involved their house-elf? Can he be trusted to keep that from his masters?”

“I had to, and yeah I think so,” Marina said, annoyance flaring. “Did you hear me? We need to free him at some point.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said, subtly holding out his arm a centimetre to allow her to take it as they passed the magical border at the edge of the long gravel driveway of Malfoy Manor. She gripped it and held the cloak tight with her other hand. “Don’t think me callous, Marina. I know what abuse that poor creature suffers…”

He brandished his wand and the horrible twisting, sucking sensation engulfed Marina like a tidal wave. suddenly, they were standing at the huge gate at the edge of Hogwarts. She pulled off the cloak and revealed the diary. Dumbledore looked down at it, an expression both curious and revolted on his face.

“I only worry that there will be harsher consequences for him if his discretion is discovered…” Dumbledore said, turning from her and the diary, and making his way towards the school. Marina jogged to keep up with him.

“We have to help him. In the books, Harry uses the diary to –”

“Marina,” Dumbledore interrupted in a reprimanding voice, stopping abruptly and turning on his heel to face her so suddenly that she nearly ran into him. “You must resist the urge to tell me any more of what happens in those books. Horrible things have happened to witches and wizards who have disrupted the time stream far less than we already have. If there are to be consequences for our actions, we must minimise them as much as possible.”

The intensity of his tone, the fire in his eyes stopped Marina’s thoughts dead. She nodded. Just as Dumbledore made to turn, she remembered something. “Sir –”

He looked back, surprised. She smiled, pleased to have something that might get herself back in the good books. “I didn’t just get the diary.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Marina raised her other hand in which she held a single pale blonde hair. “I got this off Narcissa.”

Dumbledore’s face softened and the twinkle returned to his eyes. “That may be useful yet…” He extracted a small glass phial from his robes and with his wand, guided the hair inside, watching it curl to fit. “Well done, Marina,” said Dumbledore warmly. “Now, let us get back inside. We have much to discuss…” He turned and walked quickly towards the huge oak doors of the castle.

Marina hesitated a moment before following him, gripping the diary tightly. She looked down at it, its worn black cover, deceptively plain. Opening it slightly, she saw the smudged but still immaculate printing on the front page – _T. M. Riddle._

Marina’s heart thudded painfully with nerves, and she pulled in a deep breath as she shut the diary, looking up to catch up with Dumbledore. Their plan was only just beginning. 

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	4. Once Bitten

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MCGONAGALL ROUNDED ON** Marina with a fierce look. “You asked their _house-elf?_ ”

Marina shifted, irritably. “I suppose you’d rather I whipped out my wand to cast a door-finding charm?”

McGonagall’s stern look didn’t fade. “Of course not, but a house-elf? They are notoriously loyal, even to the worst sort of master…”

“Dobby will do the right thing,” Marina said firmly, looking at the others. “I know he will. He remembers what things were like last time Voldemort was in power” – the room, excluding Dumbledore, gave a flinch at the name – “and he doesn’t want that to happen again. House-elves were treated even worse than he is now. He has a good heart.”

McGonagall rounded on Dumbledore for a second opinion, and he simply inclined his head in agreement, hands clasped in front of his face where he sat at his desk.

“Well,” McGonagall said, deflating, “if you think he is trustworthy, Albus…” she looked like she had more to say, but she sat back down in the circle of chairs arching in front of Dumbledore.

Gathered in the eclectic ordered chaos of Dumbledore’s office, the First Order looked near exactly how Marina had always imagined them. Remus Lupin was a dishevelled, permanently exhausted looking man who had kind eyes and a quiet disposition that conveyed the presence of a good listener. He had said very little during the meeting, but his voice was an even, slightly gravelly tone that drew the attention of the group even when others were speaking much louder than him.

Minerva McGonagall was tall, imposing, and authoritative in an elegant, experienced way that made Marina sorry to disagree with her. She wore emerald green robes and a wide brimmed pointed hat that curved on an angle. The creases on her face gave her the air of a robust intelligence. When she spoke she tended to stand, drawing up her height and pacing, only sitting again when she felt her concerns had been adequately addressed.

Also standing was Alastor Moody, the face who looked least like Marina had anticipated. His hair, unlike his depiction in the movies was a dark, cold-toned grey with a wild, brittle texture. His face was lined deeply with what Marina could only guess was a mix of age, hardship, and combat. These lines were further exacerbated by his perpetual frown. His single dark eye seemed brooding and observant, sinking into the shadow below the heavy brow of his face. In striking contrast, his left eye was an almost artificial looking electric blue, ever moving, bulging from the socket like it was straining away from his face. Its iris frequently disappeared as it rolled around ever roaming and restless.

“Indeed, Minerva, I believe Dobby is trustworthy.” Dumbledore’s voice wrenched Marina’s attention back to the present. He sat back in his desk, and opened his hands as if asking their input. “Now, we must discuss the distribution of this diary.”

Moody snorted. “You can’t be serious, Albus.”

“I am,” said Dumbledore evenly.

“This plan is madness,” Moody growled from where he stood, heavily leaning on the back of the chair he had yet to sit in. “Just stab the bloody thing and get it over with,” he gestured to the diary which sat on Dumbledore’s desk before them all.

“If only it were so simple, Alastor. Unfortunately, according to Marina” –all eyes swivelled towards her– “we have already tried that. At the cost of many innocent lives, and unquantifiable suffering.”

“Are you sure she is to be trusted?” Moody said, not bothering to lower his voice. Marina levelled him with a mordant look.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “Marina has told and retold her position several times both with and without Veritaserum. She has also provided information that is… particularly convincing of her validity.”

“Hmm,” Moody’s electric blue eye had fixed on Marina even while he continued to face Dumbledore. Somehow its stillness was more disturbing than its normal wandering. “What’s the plan then?”

Dumbledore delicately picked up the diary as if it were something poisonous. “We share this burden. We know that this diary will slowly consume the soul of whoever writes in it if it gets its chance, so no one may keep it for too long.”

“And how will we recognise it’s been too long? What becomes of our souls should that line be crossed?” Lupin asked, staring intently at the diary.

Dumbledore gave Marina a slight nod and she turned to the group. “You might lose time, an hour at first, and if you don’t pass on the diary it would become longer and longer. I think we’ll also have some other side effects, exhaustion, irritability, unsociability…”

“Have you had the diary this whole time, Alastor?” Lupin interjected wryly.

Moody gave a short bark of a laugh.

McGonagall looked much more concerned. “The school year begins soon, Albus. Is it wise to have this diary moving around inside the school whilst there are students about?”

“We will take every precaution when moving the diary between us,” said Dumbledore. “I have arranged a series of appropriate charms and wards for your various residences and connected your fireplaces to mine. The diary will only move between protected areas, and always through my office.”

“Where’s she staying?” Moody jerked his scarred chin towards Marina.

“I have arranged a post for Marina in Hogsmeade working at Tomes and Scrolls. Its owner, a witch by the name of Olevia Bristlecone, has graciously allowed room and board above the store as part of the salary.”

“Hmm,” Moody said again. His blue eye was still hovering on Marina’s face as if trying to catch a moment of weakness. Her skin suddenly felt too tight and she became intensely aware of every expression that might be crossing her face.

“I propose we begin with a week of writing each. We must remain in constant communication to ensure our own safety,” Dumbledore was saying. Marina tried to shake the sight of Moody’s eye in her peripheral vision.

“You have to talk honestly, too. It won’t work if you just write about the weather and stuff. You have to get personal,” she said, fixing her gaze on Dumbledore to avoid the scrutiny of the Order. Her plan felt a lot riskier when it was being picked over by experienced, battle-hardened witches and wizards who had been fighting Voldemort for decades.

“This is dangerous,” murmured Lupin. “It will be easy to give too much. I presume the diary will want us to… overindulge.”

“Yeah,” Marina nodded. “It will know. But that’s part of it. This is our first chance to show Tom Riddle something different. We have to be honest about the plan –“

“Absolutely not,” Dumbledore said sharply, giving her a stern look. They had clashed about this point several times and he was clearly unhappy she had tried to bring it up in the meeting. “We must not let Tom know we are aware of his Horcruxes. If this plan goes ary, we may have a young Voldemort on our hands who could bring that information back to Voldemort’s followers, and Voldemort himself. If that is the case, we must only let him think that we discovered the diary and did not know of its true nature. That we devised this plan simply by realising that the diary held Tom Riddle’s memory and we wished to interrogate him.”

“That’s not going to work,” Marina fumed. “The point of this plan is to show Riddle the qualities he didn’t see growing up – love, caring, compassion, and _trust_. If he finds out we have been hiding things from him, only talking to him for our own purposes without sharing our goal, explaining to him _why_ –”

“Marina, you see how reckless that is,” McGonagall said, standing slowly. “Riddle mustn’t know we are aware of his true nature. He may not be aware of it himself. Albus is right, the risks of sharing our true plan are impossibly high –”

“Not to mention,” Moody interjected, “if Riddle knows we know he’s a Horcrux, he knows we will kill him if he doesn’t play along. It’ll give him just another reason to act friendly and then split as soon as he becomes corporeal.”

Marina felt frustration building up as the group turned away from her idea. “If we don’t tell him what’s going on he’s going to think we’re ignorant enough for him to manipulate anyway!” She said desperately. “He’s not going to take us seriously!”

“Marina has a point,” Lupin said slowly. She turned to him in relief, but it was shortlived. “However… it’s not about whether or not you have a point. It’s about the risks of these two options. Riddle underestimating us could potentially work in our favour if things get out of hand. But if we disclose everything, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will know we have discovered his secrets and tighten the protective measures on them. It will ruin any chance we have to change plans if this goes wrong and return to hunting and destroying the Horcruxes.”

“Exactly,” Dumbledore’s eyes glinted as he surveyed Marina’s disheartened face. “You may have extensive knowledge of this world my dear, but all three of us have faced Voldemort before. We must take every possible precaution…”

Marina sank into her chair, defeated. The Order seemed to take her silence as concession, and the conversation moved around her. Marina’s thoughts were elsewhere, whirring around the images of the broken bit of soul that Harry sees in the King’s Cross afterlife. It felt like the pathetic, sobbing, wretched little creature had taken the smallest of steps towards her and all she could do was sit and wait.

“Marina,” someone called. She jolted out of the daydream and saw that Dumbledore had opened the diary and was holding out a quill. “If any of we four write first, we fear Tom might suspect something. Someone unknown to him, someone he will perceive as vulnerable should begin…”

“Should I be offended?” Marina said mordantly, still annoyed that they had overrun her.

“Of course not,” Dumbledore smiled, calm in the face of her frustration. This only annoyed her further. “But I suspect Tom would never reply to me. Alastor is a formidable Auror, while Minerva and Remus both have long histories fighting the Dark Arts. I think Tom might find them too intimidating to attempt to manipulate.”

“The unspoken implication being that because I’m a dim, defenseless Muggle, I’ll be like putty in his hands,” Marina muttered.

Dumbledore’s smile did not falter. “He will rise easier to the bait of your soul than ours. Tom is exceptionally arrogant and rarely suspects anyone to be able to deceive him, especially people from outside the magical world. If you present yourself as a Muggle with a tangential relationship with the magical world, perhaps through a family member, he will see you as – forgive me – easy pickings.”

Marina had not been offended by Dumbledore’s suggestion, but felt like fighting at every turn. It felt like more and more, Dumbledore was taking control of the plan and turning it into his own, and so far, Marina was far from trusting him to be able to genuinely open up to Tom and show him real compassion.

Regardless, she stood and reached forward to take the quill from Dumbledore’s hands. She slid the diary off the desk and sat back down in her chair, waiting for the others to gather around her to watch. The ink of the quill started to slowly form a small drip and Marina’s mind raced for something to write. She flipped the diary to the 27th of May and poised the quill to write.

“Dear diary,” she said in an exaggerated voice, “today Marcus asked me to the school dance and I’ve had the _hugest_ crush on him since first year–”

“Marina, please be serious,” Dumbledore reprimanded gently, though his eyes were warm.

“Alright, hold on,” she smirked, returning her attention to figuring out what to write. Suddenly an idea struck her and she put quill to page.

‘Today I got a job in the wizard town _Hogsmeade_ , which is insane because two weeks ago I didn’t even know magic was real. I wonder if the fact that I know nothing about any of these magical books is going to impede my ability to be a good salesperson. Perhaps I can just emphasise their various other qualities as drink coasters and tools to practice good balance whilst walking instead.’

The crimson ink of her short passage gleamed on the page for a moment as the quill ran dry and she had to stop writing. A second later it sunk into the pages and was gone. The group around her seemed to draw in a collective breath.

Nothing happened.

No writing appeared, no message, nothing.

“As I suspected,” Dumbledore murmured as he returned to his desk. “Tom may be arrogant but he is also vastly distrusting of others. I would not be surprised if it takes a while for him to reply.”

“I’m keeping it this week?” Marina asked, surprised.

“Of course,” Dumbledore said. “As I said before, Tom will find the other members of this group much more intimidating to manipulate. At the end of this week we will arrange an alibi for why you are passing on the diary.”

Marina closed the diary and placed the empty quill on Dumbledore’s desk. On her lap she couldn’t help but notice that the diary was ever so slightly warmer, but she couldn’t tell if it was because of her body heat or…

“Do not worry, Marina,” said Dumbledore, warmly. “You only need to speak my name into the fireplace in your room for it to call my own. Should anything happen, anything at all, alert me immediately.”

“I’m not worried,” Marina said as she leaned back in her chair.

“You should be,” Moody growled as he made his way towards the door, his wooden leg echoing on the flagstone floor. “You’re dealing with the wizard who started a war, killed hundreds –”

“No, I’m not,” Marina interjected sharply. “That’s why _I’m_ not worried, but you should be. You all expect to start talking to Voldemort himself. You know what Voldemort becomes, the things he’s done in this world. But this isn’t Voldemort, this is Tom Riddle.” She rounded her glare on Dumbledore. “For any of this to work, it’s _essential_ you can tell the difference,” she finished fiercely.

“Your plan hinges on there being a difference,” said McGonagall quietly. “It is up to Riddle to show us how big that difference really is.”

Annoyed, Marina stood. “It’s up to us to show him that no matter how large the difference, it is vastly more important than any similarity.”

“Your optimism is commendable,” Lupin said tiredly, not rising from his seat. “But we have seen much more than you have… we have known the extent of his cruelty…”

“Voldemort’s cruelty is not yet Riddle’s,” said Marina through gritted teeth. “He’s by no means innocent, but he isn’t the wizard you know from the last fifty years.”

“There is much to bear in mind,” Dumbledore said pensively. “Alas, Minerva and I have much to prepare for the upcoming school term, we must finish for today.”

Marina was furious. The Order had up until very recently had not even known that Tom Riddle, the brilliant star pupil from the 30s and 40s had grown up to become Voldemort. It was clear that they were already struggling to separate the two. Dumbledore was the only one in the group to have personally known Tom before he had become Voldemort, and Marina was the only one who thought Dumbledore was wrong about him being inherently evil. Although their apprehension was understandable, Marina couldn’t help but feel frustrated as the success of her plan seemed to fade with every conversation.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	5. The Right Time to Strike

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA HEAVED A** huge sigh as she collapsed on the small rickety bed in the upstairs room of Tomes and Scrolls. The sun was hanging low in the sky, bright orangey light was streaming in through the west window and turned the faded brown bedspread turn a vibrant deep red.

It had been a very long day. Hogwarts students had started swarming the village every weekend, filling every store with shouts, breaking things, leaving piles of garbage around the bins – which even _magically emptied themselves_ , Marina didn’t understand why it was so _hard_ to put chocolate frog wrappers in the _actual bin itself_ rather than the ground _adjacent_ to the magic bin – but most significantly to Marina, they were constantly toppling over stacks of books that she had spent organising. It was relentless. Without a wand, Marina had to tidy the whole store each Saturday and Sunday evening, pulling books out of weird nooks and crannies where students had perused with them and put them down without thinking, removing lolly wrappers stuck on the backs of books, and worst of all, finding single torn pages on the ground and having to figure out which book they came from.

Exhausted, Marina lay motionless on her bed for a full twenty minutes, which she knew because the tiny clockface that sat above the mantelpiece of the brick fireplace hummed satisfactorily every ten minutes. She pushed herself up with momentous effort and lugged her way across the rickety but immaculately clean wooden floor to the desk against the window that also served as her dining table. Flopping into the creaking chair, Marina pulled the diary out from its hidden place in the invisible drawer Dumbledore had charmed onto the underside of the desk.

No one had heard from Riddle in a month. It was getting so bad that Marina suspected that Dumbledore and the others were wondering if she’d made up the whole thing, and he wasn’t really in the diary at all. Regardless, it was still her week. Every day for about an hour she wrote in it, trying to be as candid as possible, her spirits deflating with every resolutely blank page that she left behind.

From the regular desk drawer, she pulled out the quill and ink she’d bought her first week on the job. It was a simple yet beautiful quill, pitch black with a purple and green iridescence to it. The ink was plain black – the colour shifting ink was far too expensive for her meagre salary, but she was saving up for the deep pink ink that shone gold in certain lights.

‘Today sucked so bad. These kids be seriously testing me, how do you even begin to think it’s okay to dog-ear books INSIDE the bookstore that you DON’T EVEN BUY. Genuinely don’t remember being that much of a prat when I was thirteen. Actually, that’s such a lie, I was horribly cringy in my own way I suppose. But at least I didn’t screw up NEW BOOKS. INSIDE THE STORE. A modern tragedy.’

Marina paused, thinking. As she watched the colours shift on the feather, she was reminded of something from back home.

‘It’s really weird though,’ she wrote, absentmindedly. ‘I don’t really remember much from before I came here. I keep realising that I’m not missing home, or not thinking about it. That’s weird right?’

She paused again, trying to think how to word what she was thinking. ‘It’s not like I don’t remember _anything_ , I remember my flat, the university, I remember every sordid detail about my master’s thesis, my plant collection, the town I lived in, the café that sells the best cappuccinos that come with one of those fancy chocolate bars on the side. But I can’t remember… any _one_. Friends, family… Sometimes when I’m just thinking about home in general it’s like I remember this vague amorphous presence of who they were, that they were there, around me. But I try to see their faces and… nothing.

‘Honestly it might be a good thing. I think if I could remember them, I’d be way more miserable because I’d have someone to miss. But that’s way too heavy, huh. This diary is pretty useful actually, I get to vomit all my random thoughts out and sort out how I’m feeling, and then everything just gets sucked away into the void where no one can ever read it and I never have to see it again to cringe at my own stupid writing. It’s like therapy, but I don’t pay for it, and there are no professionals involved. So kind of nothing like therapy, now that I think about it.’

Marina sat back, staring out the window at the quiet street. The cobblestones, the old buildings, and the huge wild trees gave it a magical quality without even paying attention to the moving posters, the bizarre gadgets in Zonko’s shop window, or the little group of fairies that had nested above the sign on the Three Broomsticks. She sighed again, a little sad, and looked back down to keep writing.

_‘Hello.’_

Marina stared. In her same black ink sat a word on the page she hadn’t written. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. She dipped the quill in her ink pot and shakily wrote back.

‘Hey what the fuck.’

The message shone and then sunk into the page. There was a long pause, so long that she started wondering if she’d written the greeting without realising and had just forgotten. But then –

 _‘I don’t mean to scare you.’_ The slanted, perfect print writing bled up onto the page and lingered for a short while before vanishing.

She scrawled back immediately. ‘Yeah, you failed step one. What the hell is going on? Why is my diary talking to me?’

Marina felt heat on her face as she continued the lie, wondering if Riddle would fall for it. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

_‘My name is Tom Riddle, this was once my diary. I’d really like to hear how you found it actually.’_

He was clearly playing it cool. Marina’s hands shook as she replied, giving her act of shock an air of authenticity.

‘Well, I’ll tell you if you tell me how you’re a talking diary.’

Riddle replied almost immediately. _‘Years ago I was student at Hogwarts, the school of magic that your least favourite customers attend. During my time there I managed to develop a spell to instil a version of my consciousness in a diary.’_

It was a blatant lie. Marina supposed he was riding on the assumption that she didn’t know enough about magic or Hogwarts to call him out.

‘Why the hell would you do that?’ She wrote. It was risky to challenge his explanation, but she felt it would be more suspicious if she just let it slide so easily.

_‘I was always interested in developing new types of magic, it was less for a specific purpose and more to see if I could. You’ve talked about your thesis, I suppose you understand the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, right?’_

She nearly laughed. He was already trying to draw her in, appealing to the science side of her, but she dipped her quill and wrote, ‘For sure for sure, I don’t really get magic but that does sound kind of familiar. I spent a year and a half on my thesis and I don’t think it’s really going to change the world, it’s just super interesting.’

Riddle’s reply was almost immediate, her words barely vanished before his replaced them. _‘Exactly. It’s nice to meet someone who understands that.’_

She shook her head, almost impressed. It was crazy how quickly he was putting the charm on. Marina looked over at the fireplace and thought about calling Dumbledore. She was supposed to have let him know the moment Riddle started replying, but weirdly, she didn’t want to. It felt good having it be a secret, like she could get him to reply but none of the others could. She looked back down at the page where more words waited for her.

_‘I know a little about memory magic too. Maybe if you told me more about where you’re from, I could help you figure out what happened to your memories.’_

Seeing the lure, the invitation to talk about her home, something cold clicked in Marina’s brain. The feeling she had – wanting to keep it from Dumbledore and the others – it was the diary. It was already pulling her in. She wondered if they had been wrong to think that Riddle had been dormant simply because he wasn’t replying. If perhaps he had just been biding his time whilst they poured their lives into his pages, collecting strength unseen, waiting for the right time to strike. Like a snake.

Shakily, she wrote back her response. ‘Listen, this old guy at the castle told me to get in touch with him if anything weird happened with this diary. I thought it was a strange request at the time, but it makes a lot more sense now. I’m gonna give it to him now.’

 _‘You know Dumbledore?’_ Somehow, even though it was only words on the page, Marina thought she could see his eyes narrowing as his message appeared.

‘Yeah,’ she wrote back, ink splattering in her trembling hands. ‘I was sick when I arrived, they took care of me at the school. That’s where I met him. When I moved to Hogsmeade I had to buy a ton of stuff so I visited that magic shopping place in London, I don’t remember what it was called. I bought this diary at a shop in called Borgin and Burkes. Dumbledore came to visit me when I was set up here, to see how I was going. When I said I’d been at that store, he asked to see what I’d bought. He looked really concerned.’

Marina paused, having to check the note that Dumbledore had given her on which he’d written her alibi in case Riddle started replying. By the time she’d found it and given it a once over, Riddle had left her another message.

_‘Go on, I’m still listening.’_

The words, clearly meant to comfort her, sent a shiver down her spine. She’d taken too long to write so he was jerking the line, trying to make her bite again. Looking over at Dumbledore’s message for reference, she kept going.

‘He asked if anything weird had happened with your diary. When I said nothing had, he just told me to let him know if something did. He told me I can call him through the fireplace whenever I need to.’ Dumbledore had specifically told her to say this; clearly he thought that it would discourage Riddle from trying anything too ambitious if he knew Dumbledore was only a call away.

 _‘I suppose this is exactly the sort of thing he was talking about, isn’t it?’_ Riddle’s reply came.

Marina found herself nodding, even though no one could see her. ‘Yeah, ‘magic talking’ does kinda fall under ‘strange stuff for a diary to do’ unfortunately.’

_‘Unfortunately?’_

‘Yeah, it’s kind of cool to have a talking diary, I’d be disappointed if Dumbledore takes it off me.’ In a sense, this was true. Marina’s eyes burned as she watched the page for Riddle’s reply, not wanting to miss it.

_‘Perhaps you should keep it to yourself then, I’d be disappointed too. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had someone to talk to.’_

That was it, Marina had had enough. She slammed the diary shut and suddenly the spell was broken. The streaming sunlight was long gone and outside her window, the waning moon hung huge and ominous. She had been writing in near darkness without even noticing.

Marina wrenched herself off the seat, feeling the stiffness that came with not moving for too long. “Dumbledore!” she yelled into the fireplace.

Flames immediately engulfed the hearth and his head appeared, looking concerned. “Marina, are you alright?”

“It’s happened,” she said on the verge of tears. “It’s happened.” She was too scared to say more in case the diary could hear things.

Dumbledore’s expression shifted and his face vanished. The fire suddenly roared as he appeared, stepping into the room and looking around in alarm. He saw the diary on her desk and seized it, passing back through to his office whilst Marina heaved herself off the floor and onto the edge of her bed. In a moment, Dumbledore had returned. He sat next to her on the bed and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Tell me what happened,” he said in a calm voice.

Marina looked up at him, embarrassed and scared. She didn’t know how to tell him that not only was Riddle replying but was already strong enough to distort their view of time, to compel them to keep the diary to themselves, to pour more and more into it for his appetite.

“Marina,” said Dumbledore seriously. “I will not be angry. I understand the effect Riddle can have better than most.”

She nodded, gaze falling on the planks of her floor. She took in a rattly breath and held it too long, trying to calm down. Closing her eyes, she grit her teeth. _‘Like a bandaid_ ,’ she thought. _‘Just get it over with_.’

She tried to ignore it, the lingering feeling, the whispery voice in the dark parts of her mind. It was already there, luring her in, asking if it were really so bad to keep the diary to herself, to keep it all hidden, secret, how good it would feel. Even as she told Dumbledore what had happened, the voice kept whispering. Marina’s heart sank as she realised that it was there to stay.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	6. Blood in the Water

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗ **  
**

**“THIS IS RIDICULOUS,”** Marina mumbled, rubbing her hands into her eyes. “It happened, I swear. Why would I make something like that up?”

“Because you want the plan to work, even though it’s not,” said Moody brusquely.

They were gathered again in Dumbledore’s office for the fourth time in a month. After his brief conversation with Marina, Riddle had vanished back into the depths of the diary without a hint of reprieve.

“Marina, you must consider. This situation could have other explanations,” Lupin said, his tone horribly reasonable “Perhaps you fell asleep and dreamt it – it’s not like you can go back and check what you wrote –”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” said Marina fiercely. “It happened. I could feel it. I’m telling you, he’s there, he’s just watching, getting a feel of us before he does anything. He didn’t want me to give you the diary, so maybe he’s trying to figure a game plan.”

Heart sinking, Marina watched as the four of them shared a look. She knew how she sounded – paranoid, chasing hallucinations. They didn’t know her really. She’d come out of nowhere and spun this plan out of thin air from their perspective. Marina was sure they had started wondering if any of it was true outside her own head. She had a sick feeling that it was part of Riddle’s plan.

Dumbledore surveyed her. He looked about as agitated as Marina had ever seen him. “Regardless,” he said, “it is your week with the diary. If anything happens” – Moody gave a loud sceptical snort which the room largely ignored – “you must let me know immediately.”

He handed her the diary and Marina nodded, feeling despondent. As the others left, Dumbledore called her name before she could get to the fireplace to go home. “Marina.”

Shoulders slumped, she turned to find him giving her a serious look.

“This is not the time to let your emotions make you reckless. You must be vigilant of any vulnerability you show him.” His eyes were intense from beneath the gleaming spectacles. She only nodded, throwing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and stepping through with a clear “Tomes and Scrolls!”

She stepped into her bedroom and kicked some of the ash that had come with her back into the fireplace. She angrily slammed the diary onto the desk, pulled out her quill and wrenched the book open on a random page.

‘Care to explain?’

There was no reply and she felt her head spin, wondering if they had been right and she’d imagined the whole thing.

No, it had happened. She remembered the fear, the whispery voice that had been speaking to her in dark moments when she was alone. Suggesting things. She forced her attention back down to the diary and tried again.

‘Hey, I know you’re there. Why so quiet with the others, huh? Everyone thinks I’m lying now.’

She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the ink to sink in. There was an annoying pause before his reply finally bubbled up.

_‘You must admit, this is a strange set up I find myself in. Four formidable witches and wizards taking turns talking to me. Forgive me for being a little slow to get my bearings.’_

Marina could have laughed with frustration. ‘You could have said SOMETHING to them, they look at me like I’m crazy now,’ she wrote furiously.

_‘You know, I have been wondering why a Muggle is in such close communications with the headmaster of Hogwarts, a senior professor, a werewolf, and an Auror. Perhaps you might explain that story to me, I’m sure it’s a good one.’_

Marina pushed the diary back in anger and stood up, pacing around the room. She had to get a grip but something was nagging at her, something she couldn’t put her finger on. From across the room she saw a new message fade into view and she marched over to read it.

 _‘It’s almost suspicious, you know. The way you pass this diary between you after_ exactly _one week. It’s like you don’t want to spend too long with me. But I’m perfectly content to spend a month listening, I can just wait to talk to you about everything I’ve heard, can’t I?’_

He knew. There’s no way he hadn’t figured it out. Marina’s blood ran cold as she suddenly saw what his plan was. Every week he sucked a little more life out of each of them, but only spoke to her. She was bound to keep reporting that he had been replying so the plan would continue, but the others would be sceptical of her over time, they’d start letting their guard down. He would be consuming more and more of them as they paid less and less attention.

She slowly sat again, spending a long moment getting her quill inked, putting off the inevitable reply she’d have to write.

‘So, where to from here?’

_‘You tell me. You’re the one with all the information, right?’_

Marina let out a sharp breath and looked back at the fireplace, wondering what Dumbledore would think if she called him so soon saying Riddle was back, only for the diary to go completely silent as soon as he looked at it himself. She felt alone, isolated. She was scared.

_‘The others don’t take you seriously, did you know that? I, on the other hand, am extremely curious to learn how you have such knowledge. Even those who know you can only seem to guess.’_

Marina couldn’t believe that the Order had been telling him all about the things she knew. It was either a trick to get her talking or he’d managed to piece things together well enough to realise she was the source of their plan. But that whispery voice started up, wondering if he was right. Asking her to consider the possibility that he’s right about all of them, that she should just listen to him –

She blinked furiously and realised that the moon had suddenly jumped halfway across the sky. She breathed heavily, trying to fight back tears. This was getting bad. At this point, Riddle would consume her whole soul while the others still didn’t even believe he existed. She had to do something, fast.

‘You die in front of a crowd, did you know that?’ she wrote, mirroring his own taunting. Dumbledore was going to kill her.

 _‘What are you talking about?’_ He somehow sounded annoyed.

‘Voldemort.’

The diary fell silent. Marina felt a smile tug at her lips, feeling for the first time like she had taken some power away from him. She vehemently wrote on.

‘You’re hit with your own killing curse. All your defenses will be stripped away. When the time comes, you just hit the ground with a thud.’

_‘How do you know that name?’_

Marina noticed with visceral satisfaction that his writing had become slightly messier, as if he were agitated too. 

‘All your followers either abandon you or get sent to Azkaban for the rest of their lives. The whole wizarding world recovers from the stain you set upon it, your legacy is nothing but baseless violence. People remember Tom Riddle and all they think is that he wasted his potential. He squandered it away into a pointless quest for immortality that ends as everyone looks on and feels nothing but relief and joy that Voldemort is finally gone.’

The diary gave a physical jolt and Marina wrenched her quill off the page. She watched, horrified as her angry words sank into the page. She hadn’t meant to go so far.

The diary began to shake, slight trembles at first and then more and more until she could hear its cover rattling against the wooden desk. Light began to stream from its open spine and right as she realised what was happening, the room around her vanished.

Marina found herself crouching, hands still shielding her face from the diary’s light. As she lowered them, she found herself not in a memory as she had expected, but a jarringly blank white space. It looked limitless, nothing around her for as far as she could see. Confusion buzzing around her head, Marina slowly stood.

“How could you know that?” A voice hissed from behind her.

Marina whipped around. Standing in front of her was Tom Riddle. He was tall, much taller than her even though he was about 8 years her junior. He was still dressed in Slytherin robes but they looked different to the ones she saw on the students in the shop, clearly showing his antiquated origins. He also looked furious. He took long steps towards her as she stared horrified, crossing the white space with surreal speed. Instinctively Marina backed away before realising that there was nowhere to go. She was trapped with him.

“The things you said,” Riddle breathed, eyes ferocious, expression stormy. “How do you know?”

“Uh – I – “ Marina stammered. His rage was very overpowering, she couldn’t focus on anything else. Fear coursed through her.

Riddle smirked. “Not so confident now, are you? You’re not getting out of here until you tell me what I need to know.” He started circling her, but something was off about it. He would suddenly reappear behind her, his voice would come from the wrong place, his steps would take him impossibly far. It made him seem like he was everywhere all at once. Marina’s heart hammered. Whatever this white space was, he was clearly in control.

Or… perhaps he only wanted her to think he was. Riddle hadn’t come close enough to touch her, nor did he have a wand. Hoping to every power she knew that it was the right call, Marina decided to take the gamble. She didn’t have the cards to do much else.

“What are you going to do? Keep me here until I’m bored enough that I crack and tell you? I have quite a few people keeping tabs on me you know, they might notice I’m gone. Besides, I don’t think that’s the right attitude to take with me quite frankly, considering I’m here trying to help you.”

Riddle had frozen, clearly taken aback by her reply. The lack of immediate consequence for her outburst was encouraging enough that Marina soldiered on blindly.

“Actually, on that point, I’m kind of sick of getting the short end of the stick because of you. It’s like, the only reason I’m even here is to help you avoid that grim fucking fate, and all I get in return is you messing with my head, making me seem crazy to the others, and a job in a book store.” Marina paused. “Actually that last part is okay, the books are super interesting. But the other stuff sucks shit and I’m pretty over it.” She pointed an accusatory finger at the blank-faced Riddle. “You’ve been screwing me around because you’ve got some plot to trick us all into bringing you back to life when that’s already the plan. _My_ plan, to be precise.” She took a step towards him and was deeply surprised when he retreated a step to match her own. “So let’s get that straight before we start talking about how I know what I know, okay? Stop being such a dickhead and just chill out for once.”

She lowered her finger, still breathing heavily.

“You’re very much like how I expected you to be,” said Riddle acidly. “How a Muggle develops such an overinflated ego is beyond me –”

“Honestly Riddle, when it comes to accusing people of overinflated egos, I’d keep your Parselmouth shut if I were you,” Marina interrupted, folding her arms across her chest. “Now listen, I’m putting my neck on the line even talking to you about this – “

“Dumbledore told you to keep it from me, didn’t he?” Riddle breathed, recommencing his circling.

“Of course he did,” snapped Marina. “You’ve been acting completely like how he expected you would – manipulative and treacherous. It’s been very annoying since I’m running around trying to convince him that you’re capable of more than that and you’re apparently out here dedicated to prove me wrong.”

“The things you wrote, how do you know them?” demanded Riddle, ignoring her. “Tell me!”

“Does it matter how? You see enough truth in what I said to bring me here and drop the innocent act,” said Marina, turning her head to keep him in her sights.

“Certain details were… compelling,” Riddle allowed, “but why would I trust the word of a Muggle? It’s not like you could be a Seer.” His expression twisted like he was considering the possibility with great distain. “What else do you know?”

“Horcrux,” Marina shot at him like it was an insult. Riddle faltered, expression surprised.

“How – “

“You’re not the only one anymore. You made more – you kept ripping up your soul into smaller and smaller pieces, arrogant enough to assume there wouldn’t be any consequence, paranoid enough to never be satisfied.”

Riddle had gone very still and very silent.

“You know, the ironic thing is you only started making Horcruxes to become immortal and it kind of works,” Marina said wildly. “Even after every Horcrux is gone and you’ve been killed, a shred of you lives on. A broken thing trapped in limbo forever, small and sobbing. Immortality, just like you wanted.”

“Stop,” Riddle said very quietly.

Marina smelled blood in the water. “What is it? Starting to trust the word of a lowly Muggle? Does it hit too close to home? Surely you knew there would be consequences –”

“Stop it,” Riddle said again, louder.

“It’s your choice now, Riddle. That’s what happens when you tear your soul apart and don’t do anything to fix it. Do you want to go down that road? Do you want to end up that husk of a soul at the end of the world, left to exist on and on without consciousness or autonomy, just pain –”

“STOP IT!” bellowed Riddle. There was an almighty sound like wind and crashing water, and Marina was flung backwards, spinning through the air until with a flash of brilliant white light she fell softly back into the rickety wooden chair in her quiet, dark room.

Marina immediately seized her quill.

‘Riddle,’ she scrawled hastily.

There was no reply.

‘You can’t run from this. Now you know what will happen if you stay on this path. You have to take responsibility for whatever choice you make.’

She waited and waited, but nothing came. Marina let out a frustrated groan.

‘Come back for fuck’s sake, it’s not the end if you don’t want it to be.’

But it was no use. If he heard her, he made no notion of it. Marina dropped the quill in defeat and sank her head into her hands.

Dumbledore was going to absolutely slaughter her.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Thank you very much to PearlBear and Bloop for your comments! I haven't put my writing out for others in about ten years so it was very encouraging and filled up my heart to read them.  
>  Thanks especially to PearlBear for the tag suggestion which I have added - I'm pretty unfamiliar with using Ao3 so if I take a wrong turn please let me know.  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	7. The Second Page

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **“IRRESPONSIBLE, RECKLESS, SELFISH,** _completely_ foolish –” McGonagall paced in front of Marina, clearly saying what the rest of the room was thinking. “And now you say he’s completely vanished! Stopped replying! Clearly, whatever foolhardy excuse of a plan you had did not go as you intended –”

“He’ll come back,” Marina said weakly, mostly to herself. “He will, he just needs to mull things over –”

“‘Mull things over’?” McGonagall repeated looking scandalised. “You have risked _everything_! On what basis? What evidence do you have that he will simply ‘mull things over’ and then come straight back to gallivant around collecting Horcruxes? What was going through your _head_ –”

Marina stood angrily. “None of you even believed that this was even happening yesterday! Riddle was going to quietly eat up whatever lifeforce he needed without you being the wiser! Your way of doing it _wasn’t working_ –”

“Enough,” said Dumbledore, voice so intense that both Marina and McGonagall immediately turned to him, silenced. “I understand your frustration, Minerva. Frankly Marina, I am at a loss.” His laser like gaze rounded on Marina and she felt herself shrivel. “You claim to have this world’s best intentions at heart and yet you continue to gamble recklessly with our future. I expected more from you.”

Marina withered under the quiet force of his words and took her seat again feeling crestfallen. This plan was going wrong at every turn, and it always seemed to come down on her.

“As for how to proceed, I think we only have two options,” Dumbledore continued. “Either we trust that Tom will take Marina’s outburst to heart and make the right decision, or we destroy the diary once and for all.”

Marina sat straight up in her chair. “How are you going to do that? Fiendfyre?”

Moody gave a start where he stood heavily at the far end of the circle. “Fiendfyre? Surely you’re not considering it Albus –”

“No,” Dumbledore held up a placating hand. “No, should it come to that I have other methods I intend to try.” He offered no further elaboration. “However, it is only fair we give Tom a chance, now that he knows what his future holds. As it stands, he does not yet have the power to try to escape. It is – I think – safe to give him some time to think.”

“Albus,” Lupin said warily. “Every day we wait gives him more time to plan ahead, figure out some way to manipulate us we have not foreseen. If this plan was dangerous before…”

“How long will you give him?” asked Marina.

Dumbledore considered her. “A week will suffice.”

“A _week_?” Lupin and Marina said simultaneously in the same tone of voice for very different reasons.

“That is _far_ too long, we cannot know what he could plan –”

“A week is nowhere _near_ long enough to consider –”

“Please,” Dumbledore said wearily, holding up his hand again. “Rest assured I will be keeping a close watch on the diary. If Tom decides to try any of his tricks, they will not go unnoticed.”

“But sir, it’s still my week with the diary. I thought I could –”

“Given your conduct I think it only appropriate that you have no further contact with Tom,” Dumbledore’s eyes glinted.

Marina gaped at him. “What… but…”

“Your actions run far too closely to your emotions, Marina. To Tom this only presents him with opportunities to exploit you. It has crossed my mind that he put on an act that he knew would rile you into just such a state, causing you to divulge too much. If that is the case, you played exactly into his hands.”

“So what, you’re kicking me off the plan?” Marina asked angrily.

“I’m afraid so,” said Dumbledore solemnly.

“I can’t believe this,” Marina breathed, staring hard at the ground. “This whole plan was my idea!”

“Your reluctance to let the diary go only proves his point,” growled Moody. “If it has the sort of effect you’ve described, it already has a grip on you –“

“I’m not reluctant because of the diary’s effect,” she interrupted hotly. “I’m reluctant because none of you are able to see Riddle as his own person, you only see him as mini Voldemort!”

“From what you described, you did very little to distinguish the two when you confronted him,” said Moody sharply.

“I told him what happens to Voldemort,” she breathed icily, “and I told him Tom Riddle has a choice.”

There was a tense silence.

“Marina,” said McGonagall, touching her shoulder gently. “What possessed you to divulge all that to him? What were you _thinking_?”

“We will get nowhere if we don’t lead by example,” said Marina, looking up at McGonagall resolutely. “Maybe I was reckless, but Riddle could tell you were all trying to play him. You acted exactly like he expected, he acted exactly like you expected. Where would we have ended up carrying on like that?”

McGonagall looked conflicted, turning to Dumbledore as if passing the question to him.

“Regardless,” said Dumbledore firmly, “you will keep away from the diary. It is no longer safe.”

“Fine,” said Marina, getting annoyed but unable to ignore the logic in his decision. That was something she was quickly learning about Dumbledore; he left very little room for debate in his decisions. His tendency to admit his own wrongdoings gave him the appearance of someone humble enough to see their mistakes. In actuality it meant that he became the arbitrator of when he was right and wrong, and he didn’t seem to be budging on his decision.

“I will keep the diary for now,” said Dumbledore, his hands closing on it thoughtfully. “You will all be informed if something happens. In the meantime, I suggest we all have a calming mug of hot chocolate and spend the rest evening in peace. That is certainly what I intend to do…”

Marina stood and threw a handful of Floo powder from the bowl on Dumbledore’s mantlepiece into the fire, stepping through into her room and flinging herself onto her bed. She sucked in a huge breath and held it. Her thoughts buzzed as she slowly released the breath, trying to calm down.

“Kicking me off my own plan,” she muttered angrily into her pillow. “Sure thing Dumbledore, I’ll just be heading home – oh wait, I’m stuck in an alternate universe and also the past for the sole purpose of being involved in this plan… I suppose I’ll spend the rest of my life working in a book shop twenty thousand kilometres and thirty years away from home instead of anything I’ve ever wanted to do or worked towards. Be seeing you.”

She pushed herself upright and sat on the bed feeling depressed. There were many things she missed from home – among things she could actually remember – but as she sat there feeling wound up, frustrated, and tense, the thing she missed the most was exercising. Something to blow off steam. It had been weeks since she’d felt physical exhaustion or effort, with almost all her time being consumed by her job, Riddle’s diary, and meetings with the Order.

Rummaging around in her closet for something suitable to wear, she found an old grey undershirt that she normally wore tucked into a pair of tatty jeans, a baggy set of tartan pyjama pants, and a shelf bra that was slightly too small for her. Far from what she normally wore to train, but good enough. She pulled the on the clothes, kicked off her shoes and socks, and wrestled her hair into a ponytail.

Behind Hogsmeade past a long line of towering trees and a small stream there was a wide open field out of sight of the twinkling windows of the town. Marina half jogged all the way there, the stone, grass, and mud underfoot strangely exhilarating. For the first time since she’d arrived in the alien world full of strangers about as far from familiarity as she could get, Marina felt like she was going home.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

An owl tapped its beak on the window of Marina’s room impatiently. She sat up in her bed, pushing her tangled hair from her eyes as her eyes scanned the room looking for the source of the sound. The owl gave an indignant hoot.

“Coming,” yawned Marina, pushing back the covers. The little owl fluttered in as soon as she opened the window, wings making a soft whooshing noise as it landed on the back of her chair. “What have you got for me?”

It held out its little leg but refused to make eye contact. Marina wondered how long it had been waiting for her to wake up.

“Sorry little guy, thanks for the letter.”

The moment she’d untied the string from its leg, the owl escaped through the window. Marina watched it for a moment as it soared back towards Hogwarts. She sighed and threw the letter on the desk without opening it, turning instead towards the complicated coffee contraption she’d purchased two weeks prior. It was an odd-looking thing, mostly made of shiny brass tubes on which balanced a shallow silver bowl of funny looking coffee beans. Above the bowl floated several different sized glass spheres that bobbed gently as if in water. Marina had no idea how the thing worked but in blissful ignorance she waved her hand over the front of it. The machine gave a shrill “okay!” as it started trembling and squealing with hissing steam. A second later the wonky wooden mug that rested beneath the thing had filled itself with hot coffee.

“Milk?” cried the coffee machine.

“Yes please,” said Marina, stifling another yawn.

“Sugar?”

“You know it.”

“Okay!” it shrieked, dumping both into the mug with a graceless splash.

“Thank you,” said Marina sincerely as she wrapped her hands around it.

Only after she’d drunk the coffee, showered, dressed, and tamed her long hair into something slightly less like a tumbleweed did Marina bother to pick up the letter. She knew who it was from already. These days, Dumbledore had taken to sending her written updates on Riddle’s diary rather than actually inviting her to the meetings. She skimmed his letter with a mix of emotions that she was too tired to try to detangle.

“He’s finally talking to everyone huh, wow,” she murmured, eyebrows raised. “Asking lots of questions about Moody’s job, of course he is… oh bloody hell Moody, how do you get away talking about things like _that_ with him.” She bustled around her room whilst she read, hearing the clock on the mantle sigh loudly as it hit eight in the morning.

Right as she was about to head downstairs, something in the letter made her pause, hand on the door.

_‘Riddle has also been asking me a series of interesting questions concerning how long I have suspected he would turn to dark magic, and what I think he would have done with his life should he have resisted it. I am curious if you informed him of your particular disdain of my conduct towards him during his years at Hogwarts or if this is an independent development.’_

Marina gave a satisfied grin. She hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort to Riddle. Savagely Marina hoped Riddle was giving Dumbledore a run for his money and asking tough questions.

Ignoring the last page of the letter, she folded the whole thing up and stuffed it into pocket of her oversized work robes to read later. She bounded down the narrow stairs to Tomes and Scrolls, almost running headfirst into a person-sized stack of books that had been moved to directly in front of the staircase.

“Morning, Olevia!” She called to the tall, willowy witch who stood in the far corner of the store, waving her wand as books whizzed around her. Olevia had a habit of rearranging the whole store every few days by a different – and for the most part, completely arbitrary – metric. Sometimes it was by font size, sometimes by number of chapters, sometimes it was by how many vowels were in the author’s name. Today, Marina observed, watching about fifteen green books shoot past her towards the far side of the store, it was apparently by cover colour. She was impressed - this was the most coherent method Olevia had used to date. The shop already looked like a pretty smooth gradient from blue on one side all the way around to the bright cherry reds, but the witch was evidently still not satisfied. She was now going through each colour section to arrange the books by exact shade.

“Morning,” Olevia said in her high, musical voice. Olevia was a great boss – her attention rarely left her books and the outside world largely passed her by unnoticed. This meant Marina could spend the majority of her shift perusing the shop at her own leisure, reading what she wanted, and taking slightly longer lunch breaks than strictly prescribed. Olevia had tanned skin with very dark brown hair cut short and spiky. She had hooded deep brown eyes and a slight Spanish accent if you strained to hear it. Marina thought she looked like a very cool early 2000s pop star, and she had the dreamy, wispy personality to match.

“Where did that Muggle book go, Olevia? The one that was on the counter yesterday?” asked Marina, ducking as two books of a nearly identical lavender shade came dangerously close to her head.

“Which one, dear?” said Olevia, swapping two orange books with a flick of her wand.

“The one by Wigworthy, about British Muggles.”

“In the maroon section,” Olevia nodded to the left window.

Marina made her way over and found it again, ‘ _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_ ’ by Wilhelm Wigworthy. Reading about Muggles from a wizard perspective was extremely entertaining, at least in this case. Her read of _‘The Muggle Conspiracy_ ’ by Sinistra Lowe had been a much more sobering experience. That text had made many claims about Muggles, ranging from reasonably harmless but still insulting – _‘Most Muggles can only understand words up to three syllables long and must be spoken to in simple, easy to understand sentences”_ – to completely and utterly bizarre – _“Muggles have a limited sense of taste and only respond to sweetness or saltiness.”_ Very little of the book had anything to do with magic itself, preferring instead to outline the way in which Muggles are slowly diluting magical bloodlines to create a simpler race of human. It was a disturbing read that had taken a day or two for Marina to shake off.

Opening Wigworthy’s text, Marina settled behind the counter as she resumed reading where she had left off the previous evening – “ _Chapter 9: Muggle kitchens and their reverence for the Microwave.”_ She completely forgot about the rest of Dumbledore’s letter until that afternoon when the shop bell tinkled and she looked up from ‘ _Quaint Muggle Machinery_ ’ by Ebony Wattle, Wigworthy’s text lying long finished on the counter beside her.

“Hiya, welcome to Tomes and –” her greeting stuck in her throat.

Standing in the entrance dressed in old fashioned Slytherin robes and wearing an amused smirk was Tom Riddle. She barely noticed Dumbledore standing close beside him at first, wand in hand and mild smile in place.

“Judging by your expression,” said Dumbledore, “you did not bother to read the whole of this morning’s letter.”

“I skimmed it,” Marina protested. “Well, the first page, at least…”

“I see,” he said disapprovingly.

“This does seem more like a ‘first page’ sort of revelation, to be fair sir,” said Marina weakly. Riddle was looking around the store with passive interest. There was something off about his appearance, like he hadn’t fully rendered in. The fuzziness of his edges made him almost seem to glow.

“I informed you of our intention to visit near the end,” Dumbledore said, picking up a book on magical species of the Alps and looking it over.

Marina scowled a bit, strongly suspecting he had done it on purpose just to catch her out. “So when did this happen, then?” She asked a little shortly, waving her hand at Riddle who was now peering at books in the yellow section of the store just next to her counter.

“Last night,” Dumbledore said. “For now it seems young Tom is unable to go too far from his diary, which provides a rather convenient way to keep track of him.”

At this, Riddle looked over at Dumbledore and then his eyes flicked towards her. His expression was inscrutable, but Marina could tell that the restrictions were bothering him. Riddle had yet to speak. Marina watched him for a moment as he continued craning his head to read the various spines of books.

“So what’s it like to be back then?” she called to him.

Riddle looked around and scowled but said nothing.

“He cannot speak,” said Dumbledore softly. “I think that the extent of his corporeal presence will gradually improve as we continue to write in the diary.”

“Wow, that must suck,” frowned Marina, looking at Riddle. “How have you been communicating?”

Again, Dumbledore answered, drawing the familiar thin book out from his bright purple robes. “He still uses this. His physical presence is not yet permanent, for the most part he remains contained within the diary. Last night he was only visible for a few moments at a time. By this morning, he could sustain a whole hour.”

“Quick improvement,” Marina said quietly, a bit intimidated.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, giving her a small nod. “I suspect it will not be long until he can sustain this form permanently.”

Riddle suddenly waved his hand in frustration, drawing their attention. He gestured towards the diary which Dumbledore promptly opened. Marina thought it was sort of weird he hadn’t had it open the whole time – it was sort of like gagging Riddle if that was his only way to speak.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said with an amused smile as he read what had evidently appeared on the page. “It appears Tom is not particularly fond of us discussing him as if he is not here. Perhaps we will continue this conversation later, Marina.”

“Later, sir?” Marina said quickly, suddenly hopeful. “Does this mean –”

“After discussing it with the others, we have decided that in light of the advancements in the plan after your conversation with Riddle that –”

“I’m back on the case?” interrupted Marina, closing her book immediately.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore quietly. “I have had several discussions with young Tom here that have been… encouraging.”

“Are you admitting that trying to hide everything from him was stupid and never going to work?”

Dumbledore’s eyes flashed, and Marina briefly thought how ironic it would be to reanimate young Voldemort only to get murdered by Dumbledore in a fit of rage. Riddle had gone very still, watching their interaction with extreme interest.

“Tread carefully, Marina,” said Dumbledore after a long, tense moment. “Flippancy is indistinguishable from disregard when it comes to such significant topics.”

Marina glowered at him. It was a very unfair thing to say – Dumbledore knew all too well how much she had sacrificed to be part of this plan, to accuse her of not caring was as insulting as it was untrue.

At that moment, Olevia drifted out of the backroom carrying a tall stack of volumes on rare Irish plants for potion making, with more volumes floating in a bobbing line behind her. “Oh, hello Dumbledore,” she said airily. “Has Marina helped you find what you need?”

“Yes, thank you Olevia” Dumbledore said politely. “In fact, we were just leaving.” He opened the door, filling the tense room with a light bell chime. Dumbledore held it open, pointedly looking back at Riddle who had not yet moved.

Riddle gave Marina a long look like he was trying to soak up as much detail as he could before leaving. She waved her hands, feigning shooing him out the door and he raised an eyebrow before turning to leave. As he walked away Marina noticed she couldn’t hear any footsteps, giving him a weird, ghostly vibe.

“See you on Friday, Marina, same time as always,” Dumbledore nodded to her.

Marina waved in acknowledgement and casually returned to her book, sneaking looks up as they walked away past the shop window. They walked at least two metres apart, and the silence between them didn’t look like it was entirely because Riddle was mute.

“He seemed nice,” Olevia said as she stood on a tall book pile whilst shuffling the higher shelves around.

“Of course he did,” Marina muttered under her breath. She wondered how tense things were going to get once Riddle started talking, and once he needed a place to live when he was fully corporeal. She heaved a great sigh and tried to put the whole conversation out of her head. She would rather read _The Muggle Conspiracy_ every day for the rest of her life than be in a room with Riddle and Dumbledore together ever again.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	8. The Flaw in the Plan

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

**MARINA PAUSED IN** front of the fireplace, tugging at her shirt nervously. Hands unable to stay still, she started smoothing down her hair, immediately followed by pulling on her own sleeves.

Her clock gave a dramatic sigh – seven on the dot. It was time. She filled a hand with Floo powder, outstretched it, but still she hesitated. Nerves had overcome her. Over the past week since their visit to the store, Dumbledore’s letters had disclosed less and less detail on Riddle’s progress. Although he had decided to allow her back into the meetings, Dumbledore clearly still did not trust her with too much crucial detail. Apparently, her little excursion with spilling the beans to Riddle was going to haunt her a lot longer than she’d expected.

She had very little idea what was waiting for her at the other end of the fireplace. Marina wished that her relationship with the Order was better than it was – it was hard having people who you had admired and dreamed of meeting look at you like you were an unpredictable liability. Knowing she was walking into what was bound to be a tense confrontation had hung heavy on Marina all week.

Trying to force down the thick feeling in her throat, Marina threw down the powder and said, “Dumbledore’s office!” with as much force as she could. It didn’t help that she could hear the tremor in her own voice.

She stepped into the room to find it dead silence and impossibly tense. McGonagall, Lupin, and Riddle sat in chairs arching around Dumbledore’s desk, with two empty seats closest to her. One a token for Moody – who stood darkly against the far wall – and one waiting ominously for her. Dumbledore sat perfectly still, hands clasped on his desk, the diary sitting inches from him. Riddle’s eyes were fixed on it, his jaw was tight. No one in the room looked happy.

“Ah, Marina,” said Dumbledore with impressive nonchalance as he gestured to the empty chairs. “Please join us, we were waiting for you.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, sliding into the seat next to McGonagall. Across the semicircle of seats, Riddle’s gaze briefly flickered over to her. They shared a loaded look before both turned to face Dumbledore. The room seemed to hold its breath.

“Let’s begin,” said Dumbledore softly. “There are several points of order to cover tonight. Let’s begin with perhaps the simplest – the matter of Tom’s accommodation. While this is not a pressing issue, once Tom becomes full corporeal, he will need a place to live.”

“Why not Hogwarts?” asked Marina, confused.

Riddle looked suddenly very hopeful, but still remained silent. Marina realised she still didn’t even know if he could talk yet.

“Absolutely not,” Dumbledore said firmly. “There is old magic and powerful secrets in Hogwarts that Tom himself has admitted to hunting in the past. I’m afraid being here would offer unnecessary temptation…”

Riddle’s expression returned to its former sullen stare, but he made no move to disagree. Perhaps it was something they had discussed in private. Marina felt helplessly out of the loop.

“Sir,” she said slowly, “surely… isn’t this one of those times…”

Lupin looked over at her. “Your desire to lead by example is commendable,” he said tiredly, “but there is a line between acting in good faith and acting foolishly.”

Marina nodded, feeling embarrassed. Both her contributions so far had been immediately shot down. She felt very strongly that no one was going to take anything she said very seriously anymore.

“The boy can stay with me,” said Moody in his gravelly voice. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” His wild blue eye roamed over Riddle’s form as if demonstrating his point.

“Excellent, moving on,” Dumbledore said lightly before Riddle could react, “our next topic is slightly more serious. Minerva?”

“I’m sure I am not the only one who has started noticing… the effects,” said McGonagall in a low voice. Marina was surprised that she didn’t stand, and for the first time since arriving, she really looked at the Order. The usually prim and sharp-eyed witch looked drawn and exhausted. There were bags under her eyes and a pallor to her face. Next to her, Lupin – who always looked a little rough to begin with – appeared to have bruises around his eyes from fatigue. His face was an unhealthy pale and his eyes looked vacant. In the corner Moody looked the least affected, but the lines of his face looked slightly deeper, the shadows under his brow looked darker. Marina wondered if it was because Moody was the most guarded of the group and was divulging less of himself.

“It is my understanding this has started affecting your ability to teach, Minerva,” Dumbledore said quietly. His eyes briefly glanced over to Marina who felt a wave of guilt rush through her. This was her idea, after all.

Now that she was looking for it, Dumbledore was changed, too. He moved less, his hands remaining firmly clasped on the desk. His eyes were slightly colder, more piercing, if not a little sunken. Where the diary seemed to have worn the others, it had apparently sharpened Dumbledore.

“Yes,” McGonagall said in a quiet voice, “I am afraid that is beginning to become harder and harder to overlook.”

Riddle’s gaze fell to the ground, his expression horribly blank. Marina wondered if he felt guilty – if he was even capable of feeling guilty at this point.

“Despite what happened last time, I think we should consider including Marina again,” said Lupin tiredly. “It will help divide the burden more.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore with a piercing look. “Marina, what do you think?”

She nodded immediately.

“That will help for now,” continued Dumbledore, “however, if things continue to worsen we will have to look into other –”

“Vixilus Maxima,” Riddle said suddenly.

The whole room stared at him.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Dumbledore politely.

Riddle looked up. “The potion, Vixilus Maxima. It should help with… what you’re experiencing.” Riddle’s eyes fell down to his hands, lips pressed together tightly. He either felt very awkward or was very good at pretending to be so.

Dumbledore’s eyes had come alight. “Of course,” he said slowly. “Hagrid has told me of a new foal… I’m sure if he asks…”

“I’m sorry, what’s this potion?” Marina asked, confused.

“It’s a regeneration potion of sorts,” Riddle answered immediately, looking over. “For curses and things like that… but it’s quite hard to make because you need mane hairs from a unicorn young enough to still be gold.” He gave a frown. “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t know that. Unicorns are gold when they’re foals, they only turn silver –”

“Yes, thank you, I’m quite aware,” Marina said coolly.

Riddle raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The rest of the room had largely ignored their interaction and was already discussing semantics.

“We would have to tell Severus something,” McGonagall was saying wearily.

“I will handle Severus,” said Dumbledore with a nod. “Thank you, Tom.”

Riddle nodded and returned his gaze to the floor.

“Finally, I have some matters to discuss with the Order alone,” Dumbledore said, holding up the diary. “Tom?”

Riddle grimaced again – he stood slowly, reaching towards the diary. As soon as he touched it, he vanished into thin air silently and suddenly. Dumbledore waved his wand over the little book and a milky translucent dome spread over it.

“I wish to discuss Tom’s progress. Alastor, perhaps you could begin.” He opened a hand towards Moody, inviting him to speak.

“The boy is interested in what I do,” Moody lumbered forward, heavily favouring his non-wooden leg. “He’d listen for hours if I kept writing. Been keeping quiet on all the real nasty dark magic I’ve dealt with, wouldn’t want to start planting ideas now.” Moody gave a thoughtful rumbling sound. “Whip-smart, asks good questions, backs off when I tell him too. Seems a good kid, all things considered.”

“Remus?” said Dumbledore, giving no visible reaction to Moody’s testimony.

“He talked about his time at Hogwarts, asks questions about when I was here too,” said Lupin. “Seems quite interested in how the school has changed over the years… I’ve tried to ask him more personal questions about himself, but he deflects them. The most he’s talked about himself was when he was discussing Hogwarts, how it was different from the orphanage, what he missed about it, his favourite classes, that sort of thing.”

Here, Lupin paused and looked conflicted.

“What is it, Remus?” said Dumbledore, very softly.

Lupin frowned and looked at his hands. “I told him that Voldemort killed my best friend,” he said quietly.

There was a long pause as they all waited for Lupin to continue. The man was slowly twisting his hands in and out of each other in a never-ending loop, eyes looking at something they couldn’t see. “He said he was sorry. He – he asked about James. Asked me to talk about him, but…”

“You are under no obligation to forgive Tom for Voldemort’s actions,” said Dumbledore gently. “If there are things you don’t wish to discuss, you may keep them private.”

“It’s not that,” Lupin said, looking up at him. “It’s that I couldn’t help but wonder if any of it was sincere. From what you’ve told us, Riddle’s good with people. If I’d known that he was being honest, I could have talked about it… but the idea that he was just playing a part…”

“A difficult question to answer,” said Dumbledore gravely. “One for which I can offer no solace. We have no way of knowing if Tom is going along with our efforts because he sincerely wishes to change, or if he does so because he knows he has no other choice, that he is vulnerable, and that his fate rests in our hands.” His gaze fell to the diary next to him thoughtfully.

“I agree with Alastor,” said Lupin, sitting up and rolling his shoulders as if physically shaking the sadness off his back. “All things considered, he’s intelligent, charismatic, and compelling to talk to. I can see how he got so far.”

“Minerva?” said Dumbledore.

The witch gathered her robes and stood slowly, placing a hand on the back of the chair as she thought. “Riddle is an inquisitive boy who showed great interest, like with Alastor, in what I do. As with Remus, he talks a lot about Hogwarts. He was particularly keen to discuss what I was teaching to the students. I have seventh-year students who show less interest in their curriculum than Riddle does,” she said busily. Marina thought that perhaps that was as close to a compliment as McGonagall was going to give. “He even implied that he wanted me to ask you to allow him access to his sixth-year courses.”

“Tom has always been open with how fond he is of Hogwarts. It is unsurprising that it is the highlight of his return,” said Dumbledore with the faintest hint of softness. “If he shows real progress, I will consider allowing him some course material… but you would do well to keep that from him. I do not want to give Tom any more inducement to attempt to deceive us than he already has.”

McGonagall nodded before continuing. “I am impressed by the boy. To find him a bright and charming student is as jarring as it is encouraging. He is… not what I expected.”

“Tom did not begin life as Voldemort,” Dumbledore nodded slowly. “Before he depended on the fear and renown of his name to achieve his goals, he relied on other methods… namely his charisma.”

McGonagall splayed her arms slightly, as if in a shrug. “Then there is very little of substance that I can tell you. Like you said before, Dumbledore, there is no way of knowing where Riddle’s pretence ends, and his true feelings begin.”

“I fear that we may only know the answer to that when the time comes for true action,” murmured Dumbledore. “As soon as he is able to remain outside the diary permanently, we will find the first Horcrux. Marina, what are your thoughts?”

Marina jumped a bit, not expecting the question. Suddenly, her invitation to the meeting made sense – Dumbledore needed her knowledge of the Horcruxes to decide which they should tackle first. Marina couldn’t tell if she felt more relief that she was once again essential to the plan, or disappointment that Dumbledore’s forgiveness was clearly backed by necessity.

“Well,” she said slowly, trying to focus her thoughts, “I suppose… we could get the locket…”

“Locket?” Moody asked gruffly.

“Yeah, Slytherin’s locket,” explained Marina. “It was one of the earlier Horcruxes so there should be a pretty big chunk of soul in it. I don’t know if that’s going to affect how much Riddle might change, but if it does, we may as well start with a big one.”

“Is there an earlier one?” said Lupin, leaning forward.

“The Horcrux right after the diary was the Gaunt family ring,” said Marina, looking over at the small black book on Dumbledore’s desk. “Even though it has the next biggest bit of soul, I’d recommend going after that one after Riddle’s made a fair bit of progress…”

“Why?” said Lupin.

Marina looked at them a bit darkly. “That’s the one he killed his father over. And between you and me, I don’t think Riddle’s going to be feeling much remorse for his father any time soon.”

“I thought Riddle was an orphan,” Moody interjected.

“Tom’s family history is a complicated one,” said Dumbledore. “His father was a wealthy Muggle who had drawn the attention of his mother, a witch named Merope from what remained of Slytherin’s blood line, the Gaunts. However, Tom Senior showed no regard for Merope, so she drugged him with a love potion and they eloped. Some time after Merope fell pregnant, she felt confident enough to stop giving him the potion, perhaps believing that Tom Senior would not leave his young family. Unfortunately, she was mistaken in his character… He abandoned her, returned to his former life, and never once attempted to locate the child. Merope managed to survive, but only to give birth to Tom. She died in the same orphanage in which Tom grew up.” Dumbledore finished softly.

The three members of the Order were quiet as they listened, clearly taken aback by the tale.

“That’s why I’d recommend leaving the ring until later,” Marina said awkwardly.

“Slytherin’s locket shall be our first target,” affirmed Dumbledore.

“He made such an artefact his Horcrux?” McGonagall said, looking horrified.

“Voldemort’s arrogance knows no bounds, certainly he felt an entitlement to it,” said Dumbledore.

“The other Horcruxes are the same,” muttered Marina, “he chose objects he felt would be worthy of holding parts of his soul. Hufflepuff’s cup, Ravenclaw’s diadem –”

“The diadem has been lost for centuries!” cried McGonagall.

“He found it,” said Marina sullenly.

“In any case, we much first locate the locket,” Dumbledore interrupted, trying to get them back on track.

“Oh I know where it is,” Marina said immediately. “It’s in Grimmauld place. Sirius’ place.”

The room looked aghast. “The murderer? Sirius Black?” whispered McGonagall. Lupin’s face had drained an even paler shade of white and he looked sick.

“Well – I mean – he –” Marina stammered, unsure if she should tell them the truth about the man. Dumbledore’s eyes flashed as he saw her expression, and she knew she’d have to keep quiet. “Look, all I can say is that his brother’s house elf is keeping it hidden in there. Regardless of how it got there, I know where to find it,” she finished, shrugging.

“That will be enough for now,” Dumbledore nodded. “We will meet again once Tom is capable of making the trip. Thank you for what you have all shared.” He looked at them all significantly. “This is a heavy burden, and I commend you all for taking it.”

As they began to leave, McGonagall touched Marina’s shoulder gently. “Marina, may I speak with you outside?”

Marina nodded, gobsmacked. She had never spoken with any of the members of the Order in private, apart from Dumbledore. Feeling very nervous, she followed McGonagall out the main door of Dumbledore’s office where they made their way down the spiral stone stairs. She silently jogged after McGonagall as they descended the whole of the Headmaster’s tower. Marina had never been in this part of the castle before, her head craning as she walked through the unfamiliar scenery in wonder.

Finally, they arrived outside a thick wooden door that McGonagall held open for her. She stepped into a small, cosy office with a roaring fireplace on the right wall.

“Please take a seat,” McGonagall motioned to the empty chair in front of what was clearly her desk.

Marina did as she was instructed immediately. The witch, despite warming slightly since seeing her last, still intimidated her.

“I wish to discuss your outburst with Riddle,” said McGonagall as she too sat, taking her position behind the book-laden desk.

Marina was a bit confused - she’d already apologised for that a thousand times. Not sure what to say, Marina took the safest path of remaining silent.

“Since you did so, there has been significant progress with Riddle. Now, obviously we can never be sure how much is an act, but it cannot be ignored. Riddle has become open to engaging with us all, regardless of his true intentions.”

Marina stared, unsure what was happening. McGonagall shuffled some of the sheets of parchment on her desk.

“I wish to apologise,” she said firmly.

Marina gaped. “Why?”

“For not believing what you said about the diary, and for judging you so harshly over your decision to be honest with Riddle.”

Taking advantage of the fact that Marina had been stunned into muteness, McGonagall continued. “However, my feelings on the subject are more complicated than that. You said once that we struggle to see the difference between Riddle and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and that may be true… yet… I also believe that you struggle to see the similarities between the two.”

Marina opened her mouth to protest but McGonagall swiftly raised her hand to silence her. “I am not saying that you see no connection, but you often speak as if they are two completely different people. As it stands, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is the conclusion to Riddle, Riddle is the first step to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They may not be twins but they are, in a sense, brothers.”

“I see your point,” Marina said slowly. “It’s just… sometimes I feel I have to force you all to even consider that this plan may work! It’s not just because I want it to work, I really do believe that we have a chance…”

“I was coming to that,” said McGonagall with a small tweak to her mouth. “Whilst I believe that the conflict between your optimism and our scepticism has struck an odd sort of balance that keeps us from straying too far down either path, I also recognise that it betrays one of the deepest and most inescapable flaws in your plan.”

“What?” Marina asked, alarmed.

McGonagall looked at her, intense and full of pain. “You can never know the horrors of the War,” she said quietly. “You lost no friends, no family, no students… you do not remember that fear.” McGonagall paused, looking lost in the memory.

Marina felt emotion burn on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I didn’t… I’m sorry –”

“You may never know the true horror that is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” interrupted McGonagall. “But we cannot forget it. And that, in essence, is where this plan may fail. While it is critical that you come to recognise the danger of this situation, it is equally critical that we learn to meet Riddle as he is now. The path has changed, and we must encourage him down it. All of us.”

Something warm bloomed in Marina’s chest. “Okay,” she said firmly, trying to force down a smile. “I see what you’re saying. I’ll be more careful around Riddle and you’ll…”

“Be more caring,” McGonagall nodded. “After all, if he is to learn how to trust, to care for someone, to connect with others… we must lead by example,” McGonagall finished with the smallest of smiles.

Marina beamed. It was a bold thing for McGonagall to say, but she was clearly not head of Gryffindor for nothing.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.   
>  Thank you very much for the comments and the kudos, it really means a lot to me :)   
>  °•. ✿ .•° 


	9. A Helping Hand

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA SMOOTHED HER** sweaty hair back behind her ears and tried again to walk up the stairs. On the second step her thighs gave out and she caught herself heavily on the wall.

“Marina? Are you alright?” Olevia called, alarmed.

“Yeah – sorry,” huffed Marina, waving away the witch’s concern. “Just did too many squat kicks, you know how it is!”

Olevia, who evidently did not know how it was, gave her a curious look and floated off, straightening her rose pink pointed hat with the tip of her wand. Marina returned her attention to the monumental task of getting up to her room. She heaved herself up the stairs mostly by pushing on the walls and opened the door at the top with great relief. She was indescribably excited to flop onto her bed and have a forty-five minute shower –

“Oh,” she said, staring at the occupants in her room.

Riddle leaned against the windowsill on the far wall, peering outside, and Dumbledore was sitting on her bed looking around her room with great interest.

“I like how you have decorated,” Dumbledore said, “where on earth did you find all these plants?”

“I go on walks,” Marina said as she leaned heavily on the door frame, “and there was a ton of spare pots in the second-hand shop next door.”

“I see,” Dumbledore frowned at her. “Are you alright? You seem out of sorts.”

“My legs aren’t working at the moment,” Marina said as a way of explanation. She was a little disappointed that her long evening of doing nothing by herself had been interrupted. “Listen, did you need something? I was just gonna jump in the shower –”

“Yes, in fact, I need you to mind the diary this week,” said Dumbledore conversationally. In the corner of the room, Riddle’s expression hardened.

Marina didn’t know what was going on. “Uh – sure. Are you alright?” Marina asked, trying to be delicate.

“I am very well, thank you Marina. However, the Hogwarts term starts at the end of this week and I’m afraid I’m quite overrun,” smiled Dumbledore. “I thought this might be the perfect opportunity for you to – ah – get back in the game.”

“Right,” said Marina slowly. “Sure thing. Sorry – can you give me a minute? I am disgustingly sweaty right now.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said, folding one leg over the other under the garish red and silver robes he was wearing.

“Thanks, give me a sec –”

Marina sped through her normal shower routine and wrestled on her comfiest pair of jeans, a stripy shirt with holes peeking through at its hem, and a worn yellow woollen jumper. She burst back into the room in record time, drying her hair with a towel.

“Sorry about that,” she said, balancing on one leg with great effort to pull on one sock and then the other.

“Nonsense,” said Dumbledore. He stood and passed her the diary, which she took and tucked into her jeans’ back pocket. “I’m afraid I must be going. Marina – I’ll be keeping to my office if you need anything.” He looked over his half-moon spectacles and gave her a knowing look. Despite their differences, Marina couldn’t deny that having him a call away made her feel much better about spending time with Riddle by herself.

“Thanks sir, good luck with all the headmastering,” she grinned.

Dumbledore smiled, stepped through the fireplace, and with a small nod towards Riddle he was gone in a flash of flame.

There was a ringing silence.

“So,” said Marina lamely, “how’ve you been?”

Riddle rolled his eyes and returned his attention to something outside the window.

“Are you still mad at me?” drawled Marina as she sandwiched her wet hair between the towel.

Riddle gave her an acidic look but still said nothing.

“Suit yourself,” said Marina, rubbing her hair furiously and turning away. “Let me know if you need something.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Riddle said irritably.

“Is that why you’re pissed off? Because Dumbledore gave you to me to watch?” asked Marina as she hung up the towel on the back of the bathroom door.

“Yes,” said Riddle, shortly. “It’s humiliating.”

“I bet,” she turned to him. “Familiar too, right?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by that?” he said, his voice sharp.

“I, uh, thought maybe it would remind you of the orphanage, having to get people to look after you,” she said, feeling embarrassed that she’d brought it up.

Riddle’s gaze was corrosive. “I wasn’t aware my private life was such common knowledge,” he said finally, turning back to the window.

“Sorry,” Marina mumbled. She sat on her bed, seized one leg with her hands and heaved it up onto the mattress.

“What exactly happened to you?” Riddle asked distastefully, watching her do the same with her other leg.

“I did too much exercise and my muscles gave out,” she said, pulling the diary out of her back pocket to avoid scrunching it.

“Why on earth would you do that to yourself?” he said disapprovingly.

“To get stronger, what do you mean?” she laughed.

“Oh, I forgot,” Riddle smirked. “I suppose for a Muggle you need physical strength…”

“You say that like it’s such a bad thing,” she rolled her eyes.

“It’s primitive,” said Riddle, watching her furiously roll her knuckles over her legs in an effort to ease the pain.

“You know, sometimes I think wizards would be a lot more well-rounded if you thought outside the wand a bit more,” Marina replied, ignoring the way he rolled his eyes. “If you rely on magic all the time you’re completely screwed as soon as you lose your wand.”

“You only lose your wand if you’re a bad wizard, problem solved,” Riddle said confidently.

“Is that so? Where’s your wand then?” she said pointedly.

Riddle scowled. “That’s different.”

“Of course, you’re right, completely different,” she smirked.

Suddenly there was a polite knock at her door. “Marina?”

Marina seized the diary and lobbed it full force at Riddle across the room, who had just enough time to give her a deeply disgusted look before the diary hit him and he vanished.

“Yes?”

The door opened and Olevia peered in, looking concerned. “I just thought I’d check you were alright… did I hear voices?”

“Yes,” Marina said quickly, “I was… singing.”

There was a pause.

“I see,” Olevia said slowly. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.”

“Thank you,” smiled Marina. “Good night!”

Olevia shut the door with a slightly awkward smile and Marina listened to her creak her way back down the stairs. When she heard the shop bell tinkle and the front door slam, she pushed her way off the bed and made her way over to where the diary lay half open on the floor. As she approached the window, her gaze was drawn by what Riddle had obviously been staring at before. From that angle, Hogwarts castle perched up on the hill far in the distance, its lights glittering against the slightly starry sky, the stone towers striking a beautiful silhouette against the remnants of the sunset.

Marina picked up the diary. “Hey, you can come back now,” she said awkwardly. She was unsure if she had to write in the diary for Riddle to hear her, or if speaking sufficed.

“Please don’t do that again,” came Riddle’s voice from behind her.

She spun around to see him standing in the middle of the room, straightening his robes looking miffed. “Sorry, I panicked,” she grinned.

He just walked to the desk and sat without looking at her, leaning back leisurely. He looked like he was resigning himself to a deeply boring evening. Marina felt quite bad. Her room was small and simple, there was nowhere to go and nothing to do.

“Listen… I’m going to go downstairs and get a book for the night, do you want to come?” she offered, shuffling towards the door on her wobbly legs.

He looked around in surprise. “Yes,” he said, sounding taken aback. “Alright.”

Riddle looked decidedly less happy with the idea when Marina laughed at him taking three tries to pick up a book – his hands kept going straight through it – but she apologised profusely enough that he eventually stopped glowering at her which she took to mean she was sufficiently forgiven. He chose a book that had recently arrived in the store, ‘ _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century,_ ’ and upon returning to her room, became so enthralled with it that he didn’t look up again except to sigh in frustration when his hands lost the ability to turn the page and he had to wait to become corporeal again.

Marina (who was making her way through ‘ _Guide to Advanced Occlumency_ ’ by Maxwell Barnett) watched this process closely; it seemed that Riddle had little to no control over his physicality and was at the whim of whatever forces were keeping him around. Clearly not being in control of something was grating at him because he became increasingly irate each time it happened.

Around nine o’clock Riddle stood up with such vigour that Marina expected his chair to go flying across the room – except it didn’t, he went straight through it like a ghost.

“This is impossible,” he said through clenched teeth. “Give me the diary, I want to go.”

Marina closed her book and sat up on her bed. “Are you sure? I can just read you the book if you like –”

“I’m not a child,” hissed Riddle.

She frowned. “Alright, no need to be –”

“This whole situation is madness,” he said with a wild expression. “I can’t go anywhere, do anything, _touch_ anything… people watching me every moment I’m out of that diary and watching me when I’m in it, too. Everything I do is scrutinised, everything I say is dissected. I just want to be left alone!” he finished hotly.

Marina stared. It was the most words she’d ever heard him string together in one go. “You do understand why people keep an eye on you, right?” she said in what she hoped was a tactful tone. “The stakes are pretty high…”

“I know,” Riddle started pacing. “I _know_. But…” something worked in his jaw, his tension palpable. “What you told me… I haven’t … I can’t stop thinking about it,” he looked at her with a raw mix of frustration, anger, and fear. “I never… when I learned of Horcruxes I never thought that there would be such effects…”

“Right,” said Marina, feeling slightly less sympathetic, “you thought you could murder someone and rip your soul apart but there _wouldn’t_ be a downside.”

Riddle stopped pacing to glare at her. “You don’t understand,” he said ferociously.

“You’re damn right I don’t understand,” she said loudly. “I seriously do not understand why anyone would even _consider_ doing something like that.”

“Oh? You don’t fear death?” he jeered.

“Of course I do!” Marina stood angrily and her legs immediately gave out beneath her. She caught herself on the side of her bed just in time, but her wrist throbbed painfully and she let herself drop to the ground with a bump. “Ah, fuck…”

Riddle stared at the diary left on the bed, clearly torn between escaping, and seeing if she was alright. He let a breath out through his nose and crouched, looking annoyed. “Are you hurt?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” said Marina, glaring at him. “Of course I’m scared of dying, everyone’s scared of dying, but not everyone kills people about it!”

Riddle, still crouching, glared right back. “If you’re asking me to justify my actions, I don’t think there’s anything I could say that would satisfy you.”

“Correct,” she nodded. “There’s literally nothing you could ever say to justify those actions.”

“Then what’s the point of all this?” Riddle hissed. “This stunt you’ve dragged me into?”

“You’re not supposed to _justify_ it Riddle,” Marina rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to _regret_ it. If you’re still trying to justify it, you’re coming at it from the wrong angle.”

Riddle’s expression didn’t change but he had finally shut up, so Marina continued a little more softly. “No one expects you to be at the end of this road already, Riddle. It takes time. You’re allowed to just have a couple weeks to be angry and frustrated. We’re not going to give up on you just because of that. Well, Dumbledore might, but who listens to Dumbledore, am I right?”

Riddle looked down staring hard at the ground, his hands outstretched from where his elbows balanced on his knees. “It feels impossible,” he said quietly. “What you’re asking of me.”

“Maybe it is right now,” she said gently, “but the point of all this is to help you get to the point where it’s no longer impossible. But that means that you have to keep working at it just as much as we do.”

It was very small, what she saw next, barely anything more than an involuntary movement but it filled her with hope like she’d not felt before; eyes still distant, expression turbulent, Riddle gave the very tiniest of nods.

“If you like, I’ll leave you alone tomorrow,” said Marina. “You can spend the whole day in solitude plotting to kill us all or whatever.”

“I’m not plotting to kill you all,” Riddle rolled his eyes, the ferocity dropping from his face. He paused. “Mostly just you, since this is all your fault and all that.”

“Careful now, I’ll nark on you for saying shit like that,” she warned with a grin.

“Seems like Dumbledore would thank me for getting you out of his hair,” Riddle said dryly.

“Very true, but I did hear Moody say once that he’s got a string of teeth from dark wizards that he’s defeated hanging in his house somewhere, I’m sure he’d jump at the chance to add you to that collection.”

“If half of what Moody says he has in his house is true, I’m not the one you all should be worried about,” Riddle said as he stood, offering her a hand.

Marina leaned up to take it, but she passed straight through and fell back down with a thud, surprised.

“Ah well, I get credit for trying,” Riddle smirked, reaching for the diary.

“Asshole,” grumbled Marina right as he vanished.

She pushed herself back up onto the bed and looked around the empty room, wondering if she’d get in serious trouble if she really did just let Riddle have a break from it all tomorrow. Knowing Dumbledore, he’d probably rag on her for being reckless and too trusting, and all that. She remembered her conversation with McGonagall, and her promise to be a little more careful. Feeling much more obligated to take some sort of precaution, she picked up the diary, hobbled over to the desk, and collapsed into the chair.

‘I’ll only leave you alone tomorrow if you promise to stay out of the diary for the rest of the week,’ she wrote, feeling like it was a good compromise.

After a moment, Riddle wrote back.

‘ _Deal_.’

She smiled and went to shut the diary when something else seeped up onto the page.

‘ _But you’re not making me do any silly Muggle exercises._ ’

‘You couldn’t do any of my silly Muggle exercises if you tried.’

She shut the diary with a soft thump and a small smile. _‘Greatest Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ ’ still sat on the desk from where Riddle had abandoned it in frustration. She peered at the page it was left on, smile bleeding off her face. Along the top of the page read the chapter title that Riddle had been pouring over; ‘ _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named: The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord._ ’ Halfway down the page, the dense text was broken by a black and white illustration of a darkly robed figure with a skeletal frame and a snake-like face. Voldemort leered out at her from the page, his long, thin fingers around his outstretched wand like he was trying to curse her from the page. Even in the simplistic drawing, Voldemort’s skin looked waxy and pale, his eyes cruel and cold.

Marina stared at him and then at the diary. She wanted to ask Riddle why he was reading it, if it was in disgust or intrigue, if he felt horrified or inspired. She closed the book with a snap and pushed it away, but the memory of Voldemort’s hateful eyes burned into her from between the closed pages long into the night.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.   
>  Just wanted to say thanks again for your comments and support - it's pretty insane how motivating and encouraging it can be! So thank you ^_^  
>  °•. ✿ .•° 


	10. Official Ministry Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: blood._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

**“DO YOU NEED** to eat?” Marina asked, looking around at Riddle who sat straight-backed at her desk, pouring over his book.

He looked up frowning. “I don’t think so. At least, I haven’t been hungry yet.”

“I can’t even imagine you eating,” said Marina, looking back down at her feet as she stretched over her dead straight legs.

“Why not?” Riddle asked, closing the book and turning to face her. Marina couldn’t see his face from her position but she could hear the incredulity in his voice.

“You’re too… uptight.”

“That’s a ridiculous thing to say,” Riddle scoffed.

“Eating is so human. I can’t even picture you doing it.”

“I’m on the brink of being offended,” he said dryly, watching her twist to her right side and bend further over her leg.

“Only the brink? I’ve got to try harder…” she said, looking back through between her knees at her bed behind her.

“What do you eat, then? I don’t see a kitchen,” Riddle said a little accusingly.

“I go to the Three Broomsticks for just about every meal. Sometimes Dumbledore gets house-elves to bring me stuff from Hogwarts but I asked him to stop.”

“Why?” Riddle asked brusquely.

“Because house-elves are like… actual slaves.”

Riddle scoffed again. “Of course _you’re_ into _house-elf rights_.”

Marina stood up straight and fixed him with a hard look. “You realise that you’re going to have to develop a speck of empathy for other living things if this plan is going to work, right?”

“They’re _made_ for service,” he rolled his eyes. “That’s not –”

“Right yes, and as we know things cannot be changed, improved, or revised once they exist,” Marina nodded. “The way things are is definite and eternal, and no society can evolve or self-analyse to benefit people who are disadvantaged. You’re so right, _I’m_ the idiot.”

He gave her a scathing look. “The natural order –”

“Don’t you talk to me about the _natural order_ Riddle, you’re technically a talking book with half the soul of a fifty-year-old teenage wizard,” Marina said, bending one leg and stretching out the other as deep as she could go. “Hardly the authority on what’s natural.”

“That’s different,” he said. She could hear the scowl.

“Sure,” she smirked. “Anyway, the reason I asked is because I’m going to dinner soon, and I can’t exactly leave you alone, _and_ you did in fact promise to stay out of the diary so –”

“Can I bring my book?” he interrupted sounding very bored already, not looking up from his book.

“Yeah,” she said as she swapped legs.

“Then I’ll come with you,” said Riddle, turning the page he was on unaffectedly.

Marina smirked again. He was pretending like it was such a hard deal, but she knew he was probably looking forward to going outside and seeing something new for once. None of the others took Riddle anywhere and she couldn’t imagine it was very interesting being stuck in someone’s house all the time.

“Marina,” a voice barked from the fireplace.

She looked at Riddle, confused. “Is that Moody?”

He nodded, looking as surprised as she was. Clearly he didn’t know why she was being contacted either.

She made her way to the fireplace and knelt before it, hearing Riddle come to stand behind her.

“Moody? Is that you?”

“You need to hide the diary,” said Moody as soon as she replied, his gnarled face appearing in the flames.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Malfoy finally noticed the damn thing was missing from his cellar,” said Moody, “he can’t do much about it officially but he’d been all over Dumbledore all evening with some stupid excuse about school ambassador business. Dumbledore reckons he cast a charm on the fireplace whilst he was here, he knows there’s a connection between his office and your shop.”

“What about you guys? You and Lupin?” Marina asked urgently, feeling panic growing in her chest.

“He’s already got lackeys coming around here,” said Moody gruffly. “Ministry officials Malfoy’s clearly bribed… They’ve got some half-baked story about an anonymous tip for a dark object. They’ll be at your place soon enough.”

As if on cue there was a loud knock coming from the fireplace and Moody’s head looked around. “Alright, alright! I’m still disabling the wards,” he called as if in deep annoyance.

“Are they still at your house?” Marina gaped.

“Course,” said Moody, “had to warn you though, didn’t I?”

“Show them that music box, Moody,” Riddle called into the fireplace. “That should keep them occupied.”

Moody gave a dark chuckle. “I like your thinking, boy.”

Marina gave Riddle an inquisitive look but he just shook his head.

Suddenly they heard a bell tinkling as someone pushed their way into the store below. Marina and Riddle both froze.

“Is the shop still open?” Riddle whispered.

Marina glanced at the clock. It was well past 6 o’clock. She shook her head.

“We’ve got to go, Moody,” Riddle said quickly.

“Good luck,” Moody said in his gravelly voice as he vanished immediately.

As the fireplace went dark Marina seized the diary from where it sat on the mantlepiece and turned to Riddle, arm raised. His expression immediately turned from concern to pure annoyance and he raised his hand out as if to stop her.

“No, don’t –”

She hefted the diary at him as hard as she could, relishing in the defeated scowl he gave her. As soon as the diary made contact he vanished and she ran to pick it up, spinning around for somewhere to hide it. From outside her door she could hear people making their way up the creaking stairs.

“Shit,” she muttered.

An idea struck her. She ran to the window and pushed it open. The gutter that ran across the roofline was just above and she reached up to tuck the diary inside. It was too far.

A hard knock pounded on the door.

“Coming!” Marina called back into the room, heart pounding. She set her foot onto the windowsill and pushed herself up, balancing perilously on the sill as she reached up and tucked the diary into the watery, leaf-filled gutter right as her momentum slowed and she fell back into her room with a balanced landing. She pulled the window shut as the pounding on the door started again.

“Coming!” she said again, feigning annoyance. She dusted her hands on her pants and wrenched the door open.

Two men stood before her, both wearing dark purple robes and what looked like Muggle bowler hats with a strange glinting gold feather tucked into each one.

“Good evenin’,” the first man said, looking like it was anything but. “My name’s Twiggs, this is Batt,” he gestured at the deadpan man behind him. “We’re Ministry officials. We’ve received a report that you’re concealin’ an object of dark origins on the premises.”

“What are you talking about,” she said, feigning indignance. “I’m a Muggle. How could I have something of dark magic?”

They looked momentarily taken aback.

“No matter,” Batt said in a very deep monotone voice. “We’ve been instructed to conduct a thorough search of the building. I’m sure you won’t mind.”

In lieu of answering, Marina just stood back and opened the door further, waving her arm to invite them in despite the sour look on her face. Only her furiously beating heart betrayed her act of mild annoyance. Both men fixed her with intense inquisitorial stares as they passed her. As they turned to her room they shared a glance with each other and then immediately broke apart – Batt pulled out his wand and flicked it at each of her plant pots on the mantlepiece one by one, knocking them off and smashing them on the ground. He barely bothered to check the soil that exploded on the floor. Twiggs had slashed his wand at her bed which tore itself to pieces – feathers and bits of cloth rained down around her.

“Hey!” cried Marina. “What the hell is this?”

Twiggs thrust his wand at her coffee maker, making it fling itself across the room and hit the wall with a distraught “ouch!” as it shattered into pieces, spreading coffee beans and broken glass across the room. Batt turned to her and pointed his wand at her face. She froze.

“Not interfering with official Ministry business, are you?” he asked with grave implication.

Marina felt like crying. She shook her head.

“Thought not, that would be mighty stupid of you,” Batt said, turning his attention back to her room. With another slash of his wand the bathroom door was wrenched off its hinges and he went inside. She immediately heard her mirror smash. Twiggs was peering at her desk.

“What’s this?” he asked brusquely, picking up ‘ _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ ’ from where Riddle had left it. “Why’s a Muggle interested in wizard history?” he looked at her suspiciously.

“Because it’s interesting,” she replied, not having to fake the tremble in her voice. “I studied Muggle history in undergrad, so it’s interesting to see how things are different –”

Twiggs immediately lost interest, dropping the book to the ground. He wrenched the window open and stuck his head out, looking around. Marina’s heart pounded painfully. He pulled his head back in to turn to her.

“What’s up there?” he said, pointing above the window. To her right, Batt had re-entered the room from the bathroom, wand still drawn.

“You mean the roof?” she asked slowly, feeling dread chill her chest.

“There’s a gutter.”

“Is there?”

Twiggs clearly didn’t buy her ignorance because he heaved himself onto the windowsill and started blindly feeling around in the gutter above. Marina felt her face grow hot.

“Anything?” Batt said from next to her, wand trained on her face.

Adrenaline pulsed through Marina’s body as she tried to figure out a way to get the diary off them, how to avoid getting hit with a curse, how to get away –

“Nah,” Twiggs said as he fell heavily back onto the floor, waving his wand at her desk and sending it toppling over, spilling ink and parchment everywhere.

Marina couldn’t breathe. Her mind raced but she didn’t know how the man hadn’t felt the diary. It had been right there.

The two men cast disparaging looks around the ruined room and then back to Marina.

“Seems like our tip might have been mistaken,” Twiggs said, not sounding remorseful in the least.

“There’s still downstairs,” Batt said as he made his way towards the door.

“No! Please, that’s not my stuff, it’s where I work –” Marina pulled up her hands and stood between him and the exit.

There was a brilliant flash of yellow light and Marina felt pain erupt in her shoulder as she was thrown against the wall and fell heavily to the floor. She bit her tongue hard and blood flooded her mouth.

“That wouldn’t have been you interferin’ with official Ministry business, would it?” Twiggs said as he followed Batt down the stairs. He gave a little laugh as Marina heard Batt begin to tear up the store below, a horrible cacophony of the unmistakable sounds of pages ripping, glass shattering, and wood breaking.

Marina’s eyes welled up at the pain from her mouth and she furiously wiped them, trying to figure out how badly she’d cut her tongue. It was already swollen and bleeding profusely, and she couldn’t help but gag at the sharp metallic taste that endlessly filled her mouth. The noise went on for what felt like hours, like they were tearing apart every book in their hunt for the one they’d been sent to collect. Finally, she heard the men push their way out of the store with an out of place cheerful chiming of the bell and the cracks outside as they disapparated.

She sat in the silence, staring around her room. Nothing had been spared. Her clothes lay strewn across the dirt-covered floor, the puddle of ink slowly crept forward, and the littered leaves of her plants blew gently in the breeze from the open window. For a long moment she fought tears, unsure if it was from the pain or the sight of her meagre collection of belongings in ruin. There was a weird shuffling noise from outside her window and she looked up in fear, wondering if they had returned.

A pair of long legs appeared, and she recognised the dark grey slacks of Riddle’s perpetual out-of-date Slytherin uniform. He found purchase on the windowsill and dropped into the room. He was carrying what looked like a bunch of soggy leaves in one hand. His expression immediately changed as he looked around.

“What happened?” he asked quickly.

Marina opened her mouth to reply, forgetting about her cut tongue. Blood spilled over her lip and poured down her chin before she could jut her face out and hold her hand beneath the stream. Riddle’s face contorted and he quickly came over, crouching before her, dropping the leaves to the side. From the soggy pile, Marina saw the diary emerge and hit the floor with a thud.

“Are you alright?” he asked, sounding alarmed.

“Yeah,” she said thickly as blood trickled from her mouth and onto her hand. “Why do you athk?”

He gave her a caustic look and turned to the fireplace. “Dumbledore,” he called loudly.

Flames erupted from the hearth and Dumbledore stepped into the room, wand drawn. He looked around in surprise. “I was waiting for your call,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should have come earlier…”

“Thath’s fine,” Marina said from the ground. “Ith you’d been here it would have been really thuthpithith.”

“Really what?” Riddle asked with the tiniest hint of a smirk.

“Thuthpithith.”

“Once more, sorry?”

Marina glared at him. “You know what I’m thaying, ath-hole –”

“If I may interrupt,” said Dumbledore curtly, “I hope you are not finding any part of this situation amusing, Tom. Marina has sacrificed her home and wellbeing to keep you safe, this is hardly the time to mock her.” His voice was ice cold and unrelenting.

Riddle’s face closed like a wall of stone. “Of course, sir,” he said mechanically. “My apologies,” he gave her a stiff nod and stood.

Marina shot Dumbledore a look. “That wath unnethethary,” she grumbled, making to stand. Riddle caught her arm and helped her up.

“Thankth,” she said to him. “Anyway, can thomeone magic my mouth back pleathe?”

Dumbledore approached her, wand delicately pointed at her mouth. “Episkey,” he said calmly.

Marina felt the surreal sensation of her tongue stitching itself back together. She wiped the blood off her chin and swallowed what was in her mouth with a grimace. “God,” she choked. “That was horrible.” She rounded on Riddle. “How did they miss you? I put the diary in the –”

“The gutter, yes I noticed,” he replied, sitting on her ruined bed. “The filthy water coming through the pages gave that away. I didn’t think… let’s just say I doubted the strength of your chosen hiding place” – Riddle gave Dumbledore the smallest of glances as if checking if that much criticism of Marina was going to be tolerated, but Dumbledore simply watched on silently – “so I came out to move the diary. I don’t think you heard me because of how much noise they were making.”

“Where did you go?” asked Marina, dumbfounded.

“The other side of the roof,” Riddle gestured vaguely to the left.

“I was under the impression that you went back into the diary upon contact, Tom,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“I used leaves,” Riddle said quickly, pointing to the seeping pile of gutter debris in which the diary still lay in the corner of Marina’s room. “So that I didn’t actually touch it.”

Dumbledore appraised him intently. “I see.”

Marina knelt to touch one the scattered plants she’d been growing for the past few months, feeling sadness overwhelm her. They had all been doing very well.

“Sir, perhaps now - after this I mean - I could get a wand, in case –” Riddle began, watching her.

“Absolutely not,” Dumbledore said immediately without a hint of compromise. “I’m sorry Tom, but I think you can agree that even now, that would be reckless of me.”

Marina wasn’t watching for Riddle’s reaction, but his silence spoke volumes.

“Marina,” Dumbledore rested a hand on her shoulder. “Please stand by the door. Tom?”

They both did as instructed, shuffling out of Dumbledore’s way. Marina watched as Dumbledore began a complicated wandwork that made her ravaged room leap into action. The pots mended themselves, dirt pouring into each one with its respective plant gently wiggling its way back inside, the glass streamed back together as her coffee machine reassembled itself mid-air and plopped itself back onto her desk with a happy cry, and the feathers of her bed swirled around the room as her mattress refilled and her bed neatly made itself in front of her eyes.

Within seconds her room looked as it once did.

“Wow sir, thank you,” said Marina, impressed, ambling forward and looking around. “That was really cool.”

“Thank you, Marina, you’re very welcome,” Dumbledore said, sounding amused. “Now, the others are waiting in my office. I must get back.”

Riddle looked as taken aback as Marina felt. “Are we – are we not coming to the meeting, sir?” he asked, confused.

Dumbledore’s eyes were alight with something Marina couldn’t identify. “I am afraid there are some things you are not ready to hear, Tom.” He turned from Riddle towards Marina, expression softening. “And Marina, I think it is best if you take the rest of the evening off, I will arrange with the kitchens for some supper to be brought –”

“That’s fine sir,” Marina said immediately. “We were gonna go to the Three Broomsticks anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t challenge her. Turning back to the fireplace he gathered a handful of Floo powder from the mantlepiece bowl. “I will come and check on you tomorrow morning, if anything happens” – he gave Marina a significant look – “you know how to find me.”

With that, he tossed the powder into the hearth and stepped through, vanishing.

Marina turned to Riddle. “I am in desperate need of a milkshake, let’s go.”

Riddle’s expression was drawn and his gaze fell upon the leaf-covered diary still resting on the floor. Marina turned and picked it up, pulling off the wet leaves stuck to its cover and tucking it into her pocket. “No moping, just food,” she said sternly, grabbing her jumper as she walked out the door.

“Do you have money?” Riddle called monotonously.

Marina re-entered the room, dug around in her desk for some coins, and strode back out.

Riddle rolled his eyes but followed her, and Marina couldn't help but notice that she could hear his footsteps ringing on the wooden floor.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Thanks for your continued support and comments! Reading them makes me smile like an idiot :D  
>  °•. ✿ .•° 


	11. Before the Storm

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA MADE HER** way through the bustling bar and nearly spilled chocolate milkshake down her front as a gaudily dressed witch toppled into her. The witch laughed loudly and nasally and swayed with a bottle of what must be firewhisky clenched in her hand. Swerving around her, Marina made her way to the back corner where the noise was at its quietest and where Riddle sat waiting for her.

“Good _Lord_ ,” she exclaimed, sitting down with a huff and setting her meal upon the table. “It is hectic as shit in here.”

“Is that all you’re eating?” Riddle said distastefully, looking down at her scant meal.

“I’m not made of money, Riddle,” she said, feeling embarrassed as she pushed the small pile of overcooked peas around her plate. “Anyway, what was that music box you mentioned to Moody?” she said, trying to shift the conversation.

“Oh,” Riddle smirked. “Moody told me that he has a cursed music box in his collection that puts you in a living sleep. Anyone who hears the music will just stand there motionless, unable to think until the box is closed.”

“How would Moody get away?” Marina asked with a scoff.

“He’d take precautions, wouldn’t he,” said Riddle disparagingly. “For someone writing a thesis you can be very stupid.”

“That’s so true,” Marina said, pointing her fork at him.

Riddle just looked at her shaking his head slightly. “I don’t understand how you’ve gotten this far.”

“Genuinely me neither,” she said, smothering the slice of roast chicken on her plate with gravy and tucking in. “Moody looks at me like I’m an errant pimple, Lupin takes me about as seriously as he would a garden gnome, McGonagall only started talking to me about a week ago, and Dumbledore looks like he wants to wring my neck every time I open my mouth.”

Riddle laughed. Marina tried to hide her surprise by focusing intently on cutting her meat into exact strips.

“I did wonder why they listened to you at first,” he said, looking out the window. “Everything they said about you was very… sceptical. And yet they kept going along with your plan.”

“Oh?” she said vaguely, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“It made more sense when I could see the interactions myself,” he was saying. “You’re very difficult to ignore.”

“I’m not making the mistake of taking that as a compliment,” Marina smirked.

“Nor should you,” Riddle said dryly.

Marina put down her fork as a wave of nausea washed over her. She rested her head on her hand, trying to see straight. Riddle was saying something, but she couldn’t hear it, only the gushing pulse in her ears and a loud, piercing ringing –

“Marina,” Riddle said urgently, shaking her.

He was leaning over the table, hand on her shoulder. In the back of her mind she realised it was the first time he’d called her by name.

“What?”

He sat back down slowly, not taking his eyes off her. His question was silent but obvious.

“Sorry, just – I don’t know – I feel weird,” she said, pushing her plate away. The food which only moments ago had looked appetising now had a sickly, overly rich smell that was turning her stomach. She closed her eyes, trying to get her bearings.

“I think it’s me,” Riddle said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Marina asked, eyes still closed.

“You haven’t been around me outside the diary for this long before,” he continued. “It’s draining you.”

She looked at him. He didn’t exactly look guilty, but his mouth was twisted in a disapproving way like he had heard a joke in poor taste.

“Probably,” she said tiredly, reaching for the milkshake.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” he asked in a strangely aggressive tone.

“No,” she shrugged. “It’s what I signed up for, isn’t it?”

He was quiet a moment, assessing her with hard eyes. “Why is that exactly?” he asked suddenly, leaning forward.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve always wondered… why are you doing all of this? It doesn’t seem like you stand to benefit much,” he pressed. There had been a dramatic shift in his body language, he exuded pressure like he was trying to pry something out of her.

Marina shifted in her seat, not liking the change. “I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about that.”

“Dumbledore’s not here,” Riddle said dismissively.

She glared at him. “Don’t push me, Riddle.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why won’t you tell me?”

She drank her milkshake in rebellious silence.

“Fine,” he snapped, leaning back. “I’ll find out one day.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she grumbled. _‘Make sure you tell me when you do because I don’t fucking know why I’m here either –‘_

“I’m sorry about your room,” Riddle said suddenly.

She gaped at him. “Sorry?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” he scoffed, looking away.

“Are you feeling alright?” she feigned concern. “Did a different moody teenager come out of the diary and the real Riddle’s actually trapped in there, screaming at the top of his lungs about how eugenics is actually a really good idea –”

“Shut up,” Riddle rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to be serious.”

Marina appraised him, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Thanks,” she said, finally.

“Don’t you think it’s weird, that Dumbledore let us go without talking to us though? And that secret meeting?” Riddle continued, looking back out the window.

“He’s having us watched,” Marina said casually, stirring her milkshake with the straw.

Riddle’s head swivelled to her sharply. “What?”

“Look,” she leaned her head over to the bar. The man behind it was watching them closely, only breaking his gaze when Riddle looked over. “And over there,” she said, gesturing out the window. “Can’t you see him?”

“See who?” Riddle demanded, craning his neck around the view of the street.

“No,” she chuckled, “in the tree. Fawkes.”

Sure enough, a faint orange glimmer could be seen perched in one of the tall trees that lined the back of the village.

“If those guys come back, Dumbledore will be here in a heartbeat,” she said confidently.

“How did you know about us being watched?” Riddle asked instantly.

Marina attempted an air of nonchalance. It was easier than trying to explain that she’d gotten the inkling because of the barman eavesdropping on Dumbledore’s Army in the books, and had been on the lookout for surveillance since they’d left her room. “Just made sense, I mean he wouldn’t just leave us to our own devices, would he? Anyway, I don’t think Lucius will try that shit again though. Seems like a bit of a one-time trick, right?”

“He won’t get away with it,” Riddle said dismissively.

She raised an eyebrow. “Why ever not?”

“He had a shop vandalised, and you were assaulted,” said Riddle, raising an eyebrow.

Marina shook her head tiredly. “Don’t you ever underestimate what money can buy,” she said. “Plus, who’s going to listen to me? I’m just a Muggle, right?”

He scowled but said nothing, looking back out at Fawkes in the gently swaying tree.

“Don’t worry,” Marina yawned. “Dumbledore may think you’re a ticking time bomb and I’m a naïve blockhead, but he won’t be idle about this. He’ll probably move us,” she rested her head heavily on her propped-up hand “Now that the cover is blown.”

“What about your job?”

It was such an unexpected response that she took a moment to respond. “My job?”

“Yes, in the bookstore,” Riddle said slowly, like she was very stupid.

“Have you seen the store? I highly doubt I still have a job –”

“Where will you go?” he interrupted.

“I don’t know, maybe I can bunk with Moody and talk about our favourite bands and latest crush –”

“I don’t understand how you’re not taking this seriously,” he said harshly. “Not everything is a joke, you know.”

Marina felt anger flare through her. “How I deal with this is my choice,” she said aggressively, “don’t you lecture me on how to act. I’ve long accepted that very little of what I want is at all important to anyone in this stupid magic world. Joking about it is how I make this shitty, horrible situation more tolerable.”

He stared. She suddenly felt even more drained than before; her vision swimming as she laid her head on the table. “I don’t feel good.”

“You should go back to your room,” Riddle said evenly. “Have you paid?”

Marina nodded onto the table.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly, pulling out her chair.

They made their way silently back to the store, walking through the ruined books to the staircase and up to her room. Marina placed the diary on the mantlepiece and collapsed onto her bed, exhausted and nauseous.

“Riddle,” she said, right before he touched the diary.

“What?” he looked over, voice as flat as his expression.

“Thanks for hiding the diary.”

If he replied, she didn’t hear him. She was already unconscious.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Dumbledore took slow steps before them, brow furrowed.

“I can only imagine Lucius was so bold out of fear,” he said thoughtfully. “He knows what wrath will be wrought upon him should Voldemort return and discover the diary’s loss.”

Marina sat between Riddle and Lupin in Dumbledore’s office, watching the conversation with only partial interest. It had already been a long morning; she had been awoken at seven by rapid incessant knocking at her door to find a horrified Olevia outside. Needless to say, Marina had been dismissed on the spot. By the time Dumbledore had arrived, she'd already packed most of her things. Dumbledore had summoned two large cups of tea from thin air to calm the normally dreamy Olevia back from the edge of mania and had set about helping her clear the store. Marina had watched from the stairs feeling helpless, and even worse, Olevia hadn’t looked her in the eye since.

A small suitcase and a ridiculous cluttering of pot plants stood in the far corner of Dumbledore’s office, and Marina sat exhausted in one of the chairs before the vast desk. Her sleep had been plagued with formless, indiscernible nightmares and she’d woken feeling worse than the night before. When Lupin and McGonagall had arrived, they’d taken one look at her and shared a look of deep concern. It was apparent to everyone; whatever effect the diary had been having on them over the past weeks, Marina had matched it within three days.

“Is there nothing we can do?” McGonagall turned to face Dumbledore from where she was pacing, looking agitated. “Merlin’s beard, Albus, he had them attacked in _Hogsmeade_ ,”

“I have contacted the Ministry about the incident,” Dumbledore said gravely. “They deny that excessive violence took place because there was no evidence of counter-spells –”

“Counter-spells? Like, shield charms?” Marina asked wearily from her seat.

“She’s a _Muggle_ ,” Lupin exclaimed.

“Lucius still holds a tight grip in parts of the Ministry, it seems,” Dumbledore sat in his tall-backed chair.

“Regardless,” Moody said darkly, “we have to move her,” he jutted his chin at Marina. “They’ll be back.”

“Perhaps,” said Dumbledore, looking at Riddle. “Perhaps it is time…”

Riddle sat up straight. “Do you mean…?”

“Yes, Tom,” Dumbledore’s gaze was unrelenting. “I think we much find the first Horcrux. If Lucius is hunting for the diary, we must hasten our plan.”

Dumbledore turned to Marina who groggily looked up. “Are you up to the task?”

She stared at him. “Wait, you want me to come?”

“Of course,” said Dumbledore softly.

“But – but I can’t do magic,” Marina said dumbly.

“I see that as a strength, not a weakness,” he replied smoothly.

“Sir, I –”

“If you are unable to complete this task, you must tell me now,” said Dumbledore. There was a harshness behind his calm tone.

She relented, feeling too drained to fight him. “Yeah, fine, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” he said with a smile. Marina stared dully at the floor.

The chattering conversation droned on around her, and Marina blurrily thought about the plan. It had seemed to simple when she’d first arrived. Just get the diary, that’s it, get the diary and the rest would work out, it would be easier than they’d expect, just get the diary, talk to Riddle, get the diary, it would work if they had the diary –

“Marina,” someone said loudly.

She looked up. The whole room was staring at her.

“Sorry, what?”

“I was saying,” Moody said pointedly, “that I have a year-logged timeturner in my collection. Risky stuff, Albus, I didn’t think you were seriously considering it. Remember what happened to Eloise Mintumble? One person was dangerous enough, but to send two... it's not been done before, and for good reason."

“I’m afraid we have little choice,” Dumbledore was saying as Marina tried to grasp what was happening.

“Wait, why do we need a timeturner?” she blurted out, confused.

“You must take Tom to meet whoever Voldemort killed for that Horcrux,” Dumbledore said simply. He turned back to Moody. “It should be safe as long as they stay for no more than six hours. I will arrange a series of anchoring spells for the timeturner to help them get back –”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Marina held up her hands. “Why the hell does he need to meet the exact person?”

A glint had appeared in Dumbledore’s eyes and she immediately regretted asking the question. “In normal circumstances, perhaps personal reflection might suffice. In Tom’s case, however, I believe a more direct approach is required.”

“It’s fine,” Riddle said in a low voice. “He’s right, this way makes the most sense.”

Marina ignored him, feeling panic bubble inside her. “Are you asking me to go through long-distance time travel again? I thought you said it was dangerous! Don’t you remember what happened to me last time?”

McGonagall was giving her a very concerned look from across the room. Marina suddenly became very aware of how differently she was acting, how she felt scared, jittery, anxious... She didn’t dare look at Riddle, her eyes instead falling on the diary where it sat deceptively nondescript on Dumbledore's desk.

“Perhaps it will be best if we give Marina some time apart from Tom before continuing with this stage of the plan,” Dumbledore looked away from her as he addressed the others. “It appears that the effects of the diary are particularly adverse –”

“ _This_ was not part of the plan, Dumbledore,” she interrupted a bit frantically. “Why are you sending me? Why not go yourself? Or one of the very capable witches and wizards in this room?”

“Someone else should come with me,” Riddle interjected. “She wouldn't make it through the journey, look at her,” he gestured to Marina vaguely, not meeting her gaze.

Dumbledore’s eyes raked over Riddle with great interest. “I appreciate your input, Tom,” he said eventually, “but my decision is final.”

“But –” Marina attempted.

“I must speak with Marina alone,” Dumbledore said, folding his hands together. “Shall we reconvene after lunch?”

Moody and McGonagall left without a word, but Lupin lingered beside her a moment.

“Do you remember our first meeting?” Lupin asked her in a quiet voice. He’d rested a gentle hand on her shoulder and she nearly leaned into the calming touch.

Marina nodded. “When I told you all about the plan for the first time.”

“I thought then that your idealism was a danger,” said Lupin, voice low, “I told you that your optimism was commendable, but I cautioned you away from it.”

She pressed her lips together and tried to meet his gaze.

“I was wrong to do so,” Lupin said, crouching beside her. “You need your optimism now, Marina, it will get you through this.” He pulled a silver foil package from his robes and offered it to her. "Remember it, hold onto it tightly, don't let jaded old men like me tell you to let it go."

Marina took it – large squares of milk chocolate peeked out from the foil. She looked up at Lupin with a smile feeling her eyes prickle with tears. His lined, weary face softened and he stood to leave, patting her shoulder again as he went. When Marina looked around the office, Riddle had already vanished and the diary sat under its charmed dome on Dumbledore’s desk.

“You are wondering why you must be the one to journey with Tom into the past,” Dumbledore said in the quiet, still room.

Marina heaved a sigh and pressed her palms against her eyes. “Sir, literally _anyone_ in the Order would be a better choice –”

“I disagree,” he replied. “For three main reasons, though there are many.”

She looked at him, expectantly.

“Firstly, the matter of wands. Let me assure you that I have complete faith in the talents of the Order and – if I may say so – my own capabilities. However, timeturners are a disorienting magic, and to travel so far into the past will render you exceptionally so. Tom may take advantage of such a situation to acquire a wand, in fact I fear that this is why he suggested someone other than yourself accompany him. Since Tom has proven himself capable of manipulating the diary himself so long as he does not make contact, a wand would give him free opportunity to disapparate and return to Voldemort's followers. With a wand, Tom could fall out of our reach for good.” The diary on his desk seemed to draw his attention and he fixed it with a long look.

Marina was struggling to follow what Dumbledore was saying, but he continued despite her vacant expression. “Secondly, if I may, it is clear that your relationship with Tom is the best of our group. Unfortunately, there is a steep price…” Dumbledore nodded once towards Marina, and she understood – she looked absolutely terrible. “But it lends us an advantage. Tom continues to heavily self-monitor around the members of the Order, especially myself. He knows that we have always been more suspicious of him. Minerva and I have discussed this at length, and I agree that our scrutiny may hinder his ability to develop trust… and true friendship. Tom is much more likely to act genuinely if you are with him and will therefore have the greatest chance for success.”

“And the last reason?” Marina asked tiredly, barely wanting an answer. It was clear the decision had already been made.

“Simply put, we know that you can survive long-distance time travel.”

Marina’s eyes widened. “We know that I can survive it _once_. What evidence do we have that I can survive it _multiple times_? Riddle may be a bloody Horcrux but I'm not, this could actually kill me! Don't you remember what it did to me last time?"

“I apologise, Marina, but this is the best decision that we could make.”

“Is this what your secret meeting was about?” she demanded. “Deciding to tie me to the pyre and set me alight for the _greater good_?”

“This was, and remains, _your_ plan,” Dumbledore said coolly. “Frankly, I am surprised that you are so resistant to take a lead part in it. Unless you are more willing to send others into the fray to do your bidding for you, though I distinctly remember receiving harsh criticism from you for doing so myself. Perhaps your opinion on the matter has changed…”

Marina glared at him, feeling powerless.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Good,” Dumbledore gave a curt nod. “Now, this is for you.” He held out a large teardrop-shaped silver flask with an ornate golden trim. “Vixilus Maxima. It helps,” he added, knowingly.

Marina reached forward to take it, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swig. The potion was deliciously warm, not like a hot beverage and more akin to the feeling of afternoon sun, golden and comforting. It rushed through her body and she felt vitality leech back into her almost immediately.

“Oh my god,” she rasped. “Can I keep this?”

“I intended for you to do so,” chuckled Dumbledore. “Now, I will keep the diary until you are ready to embark on our trip. Until then, you will stay in the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey can work her magic on you. I fear she will be quite distraught to see you in your current state…”

“Sir,” Marina said, frowning as something Dumbledore had said finally found purchase in her brain.

“Yes?”

“If Riddle knows he can move the diary around himself, why didn’t he just wait until I was asleep last night, wrap the diary in something, and try to scarper?”

“The same question occurred to me,” Dumbledore stood and began to pace again, deep in thought. “I expect it is one of three explanation.”

“Go on.”

“Perhaps Tom has decided that it is most beneficial for himself to go along with this plan. He sees its logic and agrees that this is the best course of action.” Dumbledore paused. “Or perhaps he is simply gathering his strength, waiting for the right moment to abandon this pretense, bypass my surveillance measures, and escape.”

Dumbledore looked off into the distance and appeared to be lost in thought.

“What’s the final explanation?” Marina asked curiously.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said there were three possible explanations, sir.”

“Ah yes, so I did. Perhaps, and I hope… I hope this is this case… perhaps Tom has exceeded all of our expectations, and the idea did not even occur to him.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	12. The Right Choice

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **“MARINA, THIS IS** for you,” said Dumbledore. He reached into his jarring magenta robes and produced a feather unlike any she had ever seen. It looked like a flame, blue near its base, white, yellow, orange and crimson through its body, and deep smoky black near the tip. It glinted in the yellow light of the tall lamps that illuminated the deserted platform. She took it and slowly turned it around in her fingers.

“Is this a phoenix feather?” Marina guessed, mesmerised.

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded, “If anything happens, if you need help, Fawkes will be able to tell so long as you are holding this feather.”

She gave him a curious look. “Can you really not come with us? What if you just left your wand behind? That way there’s no chance Riddle could get it.”

“I appreciate the invitation, Marina, but if I did not take a wand, there is very little benefit of my presence over your own,” Dumbledore smiled. “And again, I do apologise that you must avoid magical means of travel – I’m afraid that I will continue to insist that we take every precaution when dealing with Tom… but Remus has assured me that despite the late hour of your arrival, he will be awaiting you in London.”

“That’s fine sir, I love trains,” Marina said, attention still occupied by the beautiful feather. It didn’t glow exactly, but it seemed to catch every bit of light around them. “We don’t have many trains where I’m from so it’s always exciting.”

Dumbledore gave her a warm look.

Marina lowered the feather. “Anyway, it’ll give me some time to talk to Riddle, I haven’t seen him all week.”

Suddenly a distant whistle pierced the calm night’s warm air.

“Ah, the Hogwarts Express will be arriving soon, I must hurry back to the school… Minerva will have my head if I am not there to welcome the students…”

Dumbledore turned to the bench where Riddle was sitting some distance away from them, intently studying one of the books he’d insisted on bringing. “Good luck, Tom,” called Dumbledore.

Riddle looked up and held Dumbledore’s gaze for a moment. He gave a curt nod and looked back down at his book without another word. Marina rolled her eyes.

“We’ll be alright,” she scoffed. “Without a wand he’s just another weedy teenager.”

“I have faith in you, Marina,” Dumbledore said seriously. The sudden sincerity in his voice surprised her and she felt very uncomfortable.

“Thanks,” she said, going back to playing with the feather to avoid looking at him.

“Remember, if anything happens…” Dumbledore peered over his spectacles gravely. “I will be there immediately.”

“Thanks,” she repeated as the sounds of the train grew closer, “see you later, sir.” She gave him a half smile, still feeling awkward.

Dumbledore nodded as he gave Riddle one last long look. Then, he drew his wand and vanished with a small _pop_. Marina turned and walked over to Riddle, letting her bag slide off her shoulder and onto the ground next to him and collapsing onto the bench with a sigh.

“Well,” she said, still twirling the feather, “now’s the time to murder me and hightail it.”

“You’re not funny,” Riddle said, not looking up from his book.

A huge red steam engine was slowly pulling into the station before them, huge white clouds billowing from it and up into the night sky. Marina heard the faint sound of heavy footsteps coming from their right and turned to see the immediately recognisable form of Hagrid in the distance, holding a lantern in his hand. A thought clicked in Marina’s brain. Hagrid. She looked around at Riddle.

“Oh shit,” she said, nearly dropping the feather.

“What?” Riddle said, turning his page. He had obviously not yet noticed his former classmate coming towards them.

Marina scrambled off the bench to her bag, carefully stowing the feather in a safe pocket before hastily rummaging through it until she found the diary. She wrenched it from the depths of the bag and looked back at where Riddle still sat. He had finally glanced up at her and his expression dropped when he saw the diary in her hands.

“You know, you really could just hand it to me, you don’t _have_ to throw –”

Marina hefted the diary at him and he was gone, the book he was reading falling onto the bench with a thud, and the diary skittered to the ground. Just as she had picked it up and stowed it away in her back pocket, Hagrid was close enough to notice her.

“’Ello! You look a bi' old for a student,” Hagrid said cheerfully, shining the lantern in her face.

Marina squinted against the light. “No, we’re – I’m taking the train back to London.”

“Is tha’ right?” Hagrid said a bit curiously. “An’ Dumbledore knows about it?”

“Yeah, of course,” she said with a frown. “Hagrid – don’t you remember me?”

“Er –” Hagrid looked a bit taken aback and held the lantern a bit closer to her face.

“I’m the one you found in the Dark Forest. The one Madam Pomfrey had to treat…” Marina said slowly.

“Oh!” Hagrid said loudly. Even in the faint yellow glow of his lamp, Marina could see what face was uncovered by wild beard and mane had flushed a deep red. “Righ’, course yeh are. Er – how are yeh feelin’?”

“Fine, thank you,” Marina said, confused. “Much recovered.”

“Great, great,” Hagrid said distractedly. He swung the lantern towards the platform as the Hogwarts Express drew to a stop before them. “Well, I ‘ave to go help the firs’ years, but it was nice meetin’ – er – seein’ yeh again,” he finished lamely, stepping away from her as all the doors to the train simultaneously opened.

“Right,” said Marina, watching him. “Yeah, you too.”

She watched as students began to pour out of the train and Hagrid shepherded the first years in a different direction to the others. Distracted from the strangeness of her encounter, Marina’s eyes were peeled for a glimpse of one of the main characters from her favourite childhood series – but she wasn’t so lucky. Soon the platform was once again deserted, and the train gave a long forlorn whistle as it readied itself to make the journey back to London. 

Marina looked over at where Riddle had left his bags and debated the chances that Hagrid might come back. Deciding it was too risky, she tucked Riddle’s abandoned book under her arm, picked up all of their things and clunked her way onto the train with a lot of banged corners and tight squeezes. Turning into the first compartment she came across, Marina let the bags tumble to the floor and flopped onto the seat. As the train gave another long whistle and started pulling away from the platform, Marina tugged the diary from her pocket and tossed it onto the seat behind her head.

“Oi,” she said loudly.

Riddle appeared in the doorway. He cast a disparaging eye on the pile of bags in the middle of the compartment.

“Not a word of complaint, you just made me lug about five hundred of your books onto this train,” Marina warned, laying her arm across her face to block out the bright ceiling light.

“ _Don’t_ throw the diary at me again,” he said testily, extracting his bag from the pile and heaving it onto the luggage rack above the opposite seat with what looked like considerable effort.

“You have to admit, I have brilliant aim, headshots every single one,” said Marina.

“You must be the one person alive with enough gall to treat a Horcrux with such disregard,” snapped Riddle as he sat down on the seat opposite her.

“Uh huh,” said Marina, blindly taking his book out from where she’d tucked it under her arm and holding it for him.

He snatched it off her and she heard him rifling through the pages to find where he had left off. “Why did you do that, anyway?”

“Throw the diary at you?”

“Precisely,” he said icily.

“Hagrid was coming, I figured he might recognise you. Didn’t really think that now was the right time for _that_ reunion.”

There was silence. Marina peeked out from under her arm. Riddle was looking down at his open book, but he didn’t look like he was actually reading it.

“You okay?” she asked curiously.

He shot her an annoyed look. “Of course,” he said like it was a ridiculous question.

“Alright, alright, no need for attitude,” she grumbled, replacing her arm over her eyes. She remembered her conversation with Hagrid, how strangely he had acted. “He acted a bit weird, to be honest.”

“In what way?” Riddle replied, not sounding very interested.

“He didn’t seem to recognise me at first, but Dumbledore told me… ugh never mind.” Marina readjusted her position to get more comfortable. She was overthinking it, and she hardly thought that Riddle was the right person to talk to about it.

The train was picking up speed and she sat up, excitedly looking out the window to watch the dark moonlit countryside rush by.

“You’re like a child,” Riddle said disapprovingly.

“Why, because I visibly enjoy things?” Marina said with a laugh.

“Because you act immature for your age,” he continued in the same tone.

Marina scoffed. “In my experience, people who equate maturity with being aloof, condescending, and joyless are almost always pretty immature themselves.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand what it means to be mature,” Riddle said from the pages of his book.

“The irony, Riddle, honestly… imagine being the exact sort of person I was talking about and _still_ having that statement fly over your head,” Marina chuckled.

Riddle gave her a heated look which she ignored, choosing instead to admire the scenery flickering past the window.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina awoke to the feeling of the train slowing to a halt and sat up disoriented. From out the window she could see Lupin standing on the platform in shabby, worn grey robes that made him look older than he was.

“Finally,” Riddle muttered, standing to pull his bag off the rack as Marina yawned and stretched out on the seat.

“What’s the time?” she asked tiredly.

“Just past two in the morning,” he said.

As they made their way out of the train, Lupin approached them looking equal parts relieved and exhausted.

“Let’s get back,” said Lupin as a way of greeting. “We can talk tomorrow, for now we all need some sleep.”

They wearily made their way into the near deserted Muggle part of the station where only a few late-night roamers still loitered. Marina looked longingly at one of the waiting cabs as Lupin directed them past and out onto the street.

“Don’t worry,” Lupin said to her with a tired smile, “it’s not far to walk.”

They followed Lupin down the shop-lined streets that would have been bustling and exciting during the day, but the night was drawing dreary and cold, and soon the slight spray of rain began to haze over the streets. Marina pulled her bag higher on her shoulder and pushed damp strands of hair off her wet face, greatly regretting not bringing a hair tie. Next to her she could see that Riddle was looking around at their surroundings with great interest and realised that he was seeing the city in which he had grown up for the first time in fifty years.

“Futuristic?” she asked him, grinning.

“It’s much the same, actually,” he said, not returning her smile, “except for the cars.”

“Right,” Marina muttered, adjusting her bag again. She was a bit put out by his response but chose not to push it – last time she’d mentioned his childhood to him, his response had been less than glowing.

“We’re here,” Lupin said a few minutes later, stopping outside a long run of attached apartments. Marina recognised it at once – sure enough, the numbers 11 and 13 sat next to each other on the cramped letterboxes in front of them.

“How do we get in?” she asked Lupin as she wiped away the hair stuck to her forehead.

Lupin turned to the two of them, casting an aspersing eye around the empty street. He leaned in close and they both ducked their heads instinctively. “This is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the family home of the Blacks,” Lupin said in a very quiet voice.

Marina cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, I know –”

“Step up here,” Lupin gestured next to him.

They did so, standing either side of him.

“Think about what I just said.”

Marina looked forward. _‘This is number twelve, Grimmauld Place –‘_ the two brick houses in front her started sliding apart as a new identical – if slightly filthier – house squeezed its way out of nothing between them. No concerned faces appeared in the bright windows of 11 or 13 Grimmauld Place as number 12 ballooned before them, despite the remarkable noise.

“Fidelius Charm?” Riddle asked Lupin, eyes bright.

Lupin silently nodded. He was looking at the new building before them with a deep apprehension. Marina touched his arm gently. He looked around at her touch and she gave him a tight smile. Lupin’s expression did not change, but he turned back to 12 Grimmauld Place and led the way through the rusty gate and up the neglected path to the front door. He drew his wand and rapped it once just beneath the silver serpent knocker.

When Marina was in undergrad, she had spent six months living in France where she’d rented a tiny apartment on the fourth floor of a derelict building in a very risky part of town. Her front door had sported three distinct locks at the top, middle, and base that she painstakingly opened and bolted every time she went out or returned home. The sounds that followed Lupin tapping his wand on 12 Grimmauld Place put that routine to shame - there was a solid minute and a half of whirring, clicking, and what sounded very much like a heavy chain retracting as whatever security measures lay behind the black door slowly retreated. Finally, it swung open with a horrible, drawn out creak.

Lupin ushered them through the door and into a long, dark corridor with a threadbare runner and dingy, peeling wallpaper, partially illuminated by the feeble efforts of the gas lamps that groggily self-illuminated as they entered. It was a depressing sight, made more so by the front door clicking shut behind them, cutting them off from the fresh night air.

“This way,” Lupin whispered, “try not to disturb anything.”

Riddle was scowling at the surroundings with great distaste. Marina wondered if perhaps it reminded him of Wool’s Orphanage – it definitely seemed old-fashioned and appropriately dilapidated. They crept down the hall after Lupin who seemed to know where he was going. He led them up a greasy, cobwebbed flight of stairs and Marina felt her stomach turn at the wall-mounted house-elf shrunken heads that lined their ascent. She looked away, mouth tight. Finally, Lupin pushed open a door on the upstairs landing and revealed a high-ceilinged room in which two twin beds with moth-eaten but freshly made bedding sat against the far wall.

“Alright,” Lupin said at normal volume as soon as he had very gently shut the bedroom door. “Let’s get some rest, we can talk in the morning.” He turned to Marina and held out a hand. “The diary?”

Marina rummaged through her bag and withdrew it, handing it to him. Lupin approached Riddle with the diary outstretched, politely awaiting Riddle’s touch. Riddle gave Marina a very pointed look as he exaggeratedly lifted his hand and touched the diary with painstaking causality. Marina rolled her eyes as he vanished, and Lupin placed the diary on a shadowy chest of drawers next to the door, casting his wand over it. The same translucent, swirling mist dome appeared over it and Lupin turned away, satisfied.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing a room,” Lupin said tiredly as he rubbed his eyes. “There are some… unsavoury creatures in this house that would be particularly nasty for you to come across by yourself.”

“Nah, that’s fine,” Marina yawned, flopping onto one of the beds and kicking off her shoes. She pushed the lumpy pillow around until it became somewhat adjacent to comfortable. Lupin laid on the bed next to her extracting what was obviously a very long letter from a yellowy parchment envelope.

“What’s that?” she asked curiously.

“Dumbledore’s advice,” Lupin said, reading intently, “on handling the Horcrux.”

“Oh,” Marina said, closing her eyes and settling into the bed.

“He suspects this process will be very hard on Riddle, should it be successful,” said Lupin, frown audible in his voice. “Very little is known about Horcruxes, but he thinks that the process of stitching part of one’s soul back together could be about as taxing as splitting it in the first place.”

Marina thought of Voldemort’s melted, skeletal appearance, the toll that making Horcruxes took on his body, the secretive, stomach-turning process of making a Horcrux that Rowling always alluded to. It occurred to her that she had never thought to ask Riddle what he’d actually done to make the diary Horcrux. “I hope it’s not _as_ taxing,” she muttered. “After all, it does seem a bit unfair that Riddle has to do all the dirty work that Voldemort will never have to undergo.”

Lupin tensed at Voldemort’s name but said nothing about it. Instead, he gave her a hard look. “We have given Riddle all this knowledge of what becomes of him should he pursue the path that leads him to becoming He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If he chooses to ignore it, to continue without repentance or growth… he would be as much responsible for the actions of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. Complacency is as bad as action.”

Marina felt her face draw tight, knowing he was right. “You know,” she said quietly, “in the series, Dumbledore calls Riddle ‘the boy who made all the wrong choices.’”

“Don’t lose heart so easily, Marina,” Lupin said gently. “Riddle may be challenging, but he is already a very different person to when we first met him.”

Marina bit back the glum comeback that she was tempted to say. She was tired, still damp, and clearly doomed to enduring a night without brushing her teeth – hardly a time to take the depressing involuntary thoughts springing up in her mind seriously.

It didn’t seem to matter. Lupin was watching her expression closely. “You do believe that, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, feeling conflicted. “Sometimes it seems things are better, sometimes… it’s like he reverts back to before…”

“You mustn’t underestimate the impact that this has had,” Lupin said, lowering the letter, frowning. “I believe he has been concealing from you how difficult your initial confrontation was on him.”

Marina looked around quickly. “What do you mean?”

Lupin sighed. “After you told Riddle about what becomes of his future self, Dumbledore kept the diary for weeks. I was the first one to receive it once he deemed it safe. Riddle was not as he is now. He would ask questions about his future only to vanish for hours once I replied. When I opened the diary in the morning, lines and lines of text would appear all at once like he’d been thinking all night. It took a while for him to calm down, even after having been with Dumbledore for so long.”

Despite being a bit dumbstruck by what Lupin was saying, Marina gave a snort. “I don’t imagine being with Dumbledore would typically be very calming for Riddle,” she said.

“Dumbledore talked him through what you had told him,” Lupin said in a thoughtful voice. “I think… that’s part of why Riddle is still so closed off to Dumbledore.”

Seeing the question in Marina’s eyes, Lupin continued. “Before you told him of his fate, Riddle was just like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; arrogant, self-assured, and deeply entitled. It would never have occurred to him that any of his plans would backfire - or fail at all, for that matter. To hear that everything he achieved falls apart, that the Horcruxes are destroyed, that his followers are dispersed, that his soul is doomed to an eternity in purgatory… I think Riddle’s very core understanding of the world was shattered.”

“His core understanding?” Marina asked slowly.

“Riddle has been alone his entire life, largely by choice. It was how he survived.” Lupin said, raising the letter again. “From his infancy he has only ever engaged with others to fulfil a need. He has depended on one person, and one person alone – himself. To hear that his one true ally led him astray, failed him so completely… I don’t think you should take the effect that would have on him lightly. That Dumbledore suspected Riddle was prone to Dark Magic and apparently did so little to stop him going down that path has driven even more of a wedge between them than existed before, if that were possible.”

Marina stared at the diary. She felt suddenly very guilty that she’d just napped the whole train ride to London, especially after telling Dumbledore that she intended to chat to Riddle. She thought about the way Riddle had answered her when she’d asked him how he was. He’d been almost affronted by the question, like it was stupid of her to ask. And she’d just taken his response at face value, left it at that, gone to sleep…

“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Lupin said astutely. He hadn’t looked up from the letter but had clearly recognised what her silence was entailing. “It had to be done. For what it’s worth I think you made the right choice, in retrospect.”

She nodded weakly. Lupin’s approval meant a lot to her, but the guilt was still pushing its cold fingers through her chest.

“Get some sleep,” Lupin told her with a half-smile. “Right now, everything can wait for the morning.”

“Okay,” she said quietly, pulling the thick woollen blanket over her shoulders and shimmying down onto the mattress. “Thanks, Lupin.”

“You can call me Remus,” he said, looking a bit embarrassed.

She smiled back. “See you in the morning, Remus.”

His eyes crinkled softly. “Goodnight, Marina.”

She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come. Something scratched and crept through the wall behind her and there were other sounds deeper in the house, a wet, raspy noise like ragged lungs breathing. Marina drew the blanket closer, unable to keep at bay the horrible sensation that whatever unsavoury creatures lived in the house knew they were there.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.   
>  All the support has been so encouraging, thank you so so much! ^_^   
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	13. A Familiar Face

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **IT WAS PAST** nine in the morning when Marina awoke, roused from sleep by the low voices talking beside her.

“But I thought that you only need a happy memory to cast a Patronus,” Riddle was saying. “If I had one, why wouldn’t I be able to summon one?”

“Well, first of all, I think it might be best if we try to keep you as far from a dementor as possible… there’s no telling what would happen to you, all things considered. But to answer your question, although a Patronus requires a happy memory to summon, the Patronus itself is the resilience of one’s soul,” Remus said gently.

Marina could hear the frown in Riddle’s reply. “I thought that dementors feed on the soul, how could the Patronus shield off a dementor if they’re made of –”

“You misunderstand,” said Remus, “I mean to say that the strength, the true _power_ of the Patronus comes from the strength and power of one’s soul. A weakened soul, or in this case a fractured soul cannot support the magnitude of energy required to produce Patronus, even with a truly happy memory.”

“Then…” Riddle said slowly, “what is a Patronus made of, if not the happy memory or the soul?”

Marina opened her eyes just in time to see Remus’ warm smile. “A Patronus is a physical expression of one’s hope, resilience, happiness, determination… it is, in essence, a manifestation of one’s spirit.”

“Spirits, souls,” Marina yawned, sitting up. “You guys couldn’t talk about something light and breezy this early in the morning? What’s your favourite hot beverage? Let’s start there.” She stretched her back and dragged the wool blanket up over her shoulders.

“Black coffee,” Remus said, standing up from where he and Riddle were sat in dusty armchairs in the far corner of the room. “Good that you’re awake, we have to get going soon.”

“How long have you been up?” Marina asked, reaching for her bag to pull out her yellow jumper.

“Only about an hour,” Remus said, rubbing a hand down his face. “There’s some breakfast for you there.” He gestured towards the low table next to the chairs where an apple, a buttered slice of bread, and two cold sausages sat on a plate. Remus’ empty plate sat next to it. A third plate was conspicuously absent.

“Still not hungry?” Marina asked Riddle as she made her way over.

He shook his head wordlessly. Marina wondered if he was annoyed for her interrupting his conversation with Remus.

Marina ate as quickly as she could and threw on her shoes. They left their things in the room as they left to find the Horcrux. Marina knew it was in a cupboard on display somewhere in the house, but it had been too long since she had read either the Order of the Phoenix or the Deathly Hallows and she couldn’t remember where the cupboard had been.

“If we find Kreacher, we can just ask,” she suggested as they crept through the house.

“We would do well to avoid it if we can,” Remus replied darkly. “If he knows that we took the locket, he will most likely find a way to inform the Death Eaters. His loyalties have always been... questionable."

There was a tense silence.

“Well, can that all wait? First priority is finding a bathroom,” Marina said uncomfortably.

“Oh, my apologies,” Remus said, looking around at the hall. “It’s at the end of this corridor, around the corner on the left. We can wait for you here.”

“Thanks,” she said, feeling embarrassed. There was nothing worse than people waiting for you to pee. She made her way down the hall which turned sharply to the left a few dusty metres from them. A dingy wall lamp hissed quietly as she passed, and the tell-tale smell of gas permeated the house. She rounded the corner and pushed through the first door on her left, and a gothic-looking bathroom appeared before her. There was an almost impractically high ceiling with a huge chandelier that looked like it had once been brass but was now a dull grey-brown. The walls were hung with heavy, stuffy velvet curtains and there was a ginormous clawed marble bathtub in the centre of the room. Near the tub was a cracked, stained sink and a huge black-spotted mirror with a gaudy, ornate frame. Marina covered her nose against the dust that hung on the air and made her way to the grimy toilet – luckily whatever magic ran through the house had kept it functional, if not clean.

Marina circled around the claw-foot tub towards the sink when a horrible sound rang through the room. A sob, small and pathetic, emanated from the tub as she passed. Marina froze, adrenaline rushing through her. Another sob came, accompanied with a diminutive shuffling sound. Something was in the tub.

Marina turned towards it in horror. She couldn’t see over the edge, couldn’t see whatever was inside, but the sounds continued. She took a slow step away from it towards the door a few paces behind her. The terror of alerting the thing kept her from tearing out of the room, and her step felt terribly, impossibly loud.

The shuffling grew quiet and Marina stilled in response. Her heart hammered in her ears and she felt her face grow hot, her eyes rooted on the tub unblinking.

Slowly, a small, skeletal, scabby hand appeared, reaching up to curl its fingers around the edge of the tub. The sobbing returned, heart wrenching, pitiful, broken. A wave of cold recognition washed across Marina. _‘It can’t be…’_

A second hand appeared, the mottled wet skin glistening sickeningly in the flickering yellow light of the chandelier. It was pulling itself up, the small form of a thin, flayed child. The rasping breath, the wet choking sound, the sobs saturated the room as she stared in horror, watching its body emerge. It tumbled from the tub to the floor with a cry, and lay twitching, piteous in its own raw skin. Marina was frozen, unable to move, unable to scream, she could only watch as it reached towards her. She had the bizarre urge to reach for it, to try to help it but she felt sick at the thought of touching its scabby, macerated skin as she stared at its bony, hollow face and its tearful eyes, which although sunken and bloodshot, were a terrible, horrible, unmistakable dark blue –

“RIDDIKULUS!” Remus bellowed.

The child became a giant striped beach ball giving a long, slow bounce on the spot then – as if punctured – flew around the room with a stupid noise and shot out the open door which slammed behind it.

Marina sank to the floor, the spell broken. She suddenly realised that her face was wet, that her breathing was loud and ragged.

“Marina,” came Remus’ voice. He seemed very far away. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry, I had no idea a Boggart had found its way in here…”

 _‘A Boggart,’_ Marina thought, closing her eyes tightly, trying to shut off the sight of the child’s thin outstretched hands, the sounds of its sobs echoing in her head.

“What was that?” Riddle asked sharply. He was standing behind them stiffly, looking at where the Boggart had fallen from the tub.

Marina shook her head, pressing her hands into her eyes, trying to slow her breathing.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Remus said, ignoring Riddle. He very gently took her by her arms and pulled her up to her feet. “You need to rest.”

“No,” Marina said, letting her hands drop and letting out a stabilising breath. “We came here for a reason.”

“Marina, you just came face to face with your worst fear,” Remus said softly, hands still grasping her shoulders. “No one would think badly of you if you wish to postpone.”

“I’m fine,” she said firmly, staring straight at him. “Let’s do it.”

She turned on her heel and left the bathroom without another word. Marina trained her gaze away from Riddle, knowing her composure might not survive the sight of his stupidly, horribly distinctive dark blue eyes.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

12 Grimmauld Place was filled with cupboards, cabinets, and display cases filled with the most bizarre variety of objects that Marina had ever seen. There were fully articulated skeletons of strange creatures Marina couldn’t recognise, sets of heavy jewellery that ominously collected dust on velvet cushions, ornate daggers with gems set into their hilts, endless collections of expensive looking dishes made of everything from glass to marble to what looked like obsidian.

Marina became very excited when they entered a vast, olive green room in which the cabinets held vaguely familiar things, feeling like it was a good sign that they were drawing nearer to something from the books. She came across a series of silver framed photographs of unpleasant looking witches and wizards who turned up their noses and muttered darkly to each other when they saw her as if they could tell on sight that she was a Muggle. More and more distantly familiar things started appearing in the cabinets before her, like the china set with the Black family crest, the crystal bottle filled with blood and stoppered with a gigantic opal that drew her attention longer than she’d like to admit.

All of a sudden, she saw it.

“I’ve got something!” Marina called, wrestling with the rusty handle of one of the glass-fronted cabinets. Riddle appeared in a flash beside her and she immediately let go of the handle and stepped away. She had been staunchly avoiding Riddle in the three hours since the incident with the Boggart, feigning intense interest in their task at hand by way of an alibi.

If he noticed, he pretended that he hadn’t. Riddle peered into the cabinet at the heavy golden locket that lay inside, his eyes fixed on the ornate, serpentine S emblazoned on its front in small glittering emeralds.

“That’s it?” he asked in a strangely flat voice.

“That’s it,” Marina replied.

Riddle’s expression tightened as Remus came over to join them.

“Allow me,” Remus said, brandishing his wand. With a light tap on the cabinet, the glass door swung open with a slight creak.

Riddle seemed to hesitate. His eyes had not left the locket. Remus shot Marina a slightly alarmed look and she met it in kind. Before them, Riddle reached out slowly and delicately lifted the locket by its fine golden chain. The chain jingled in soft, deceptively dainty clinks as it moved, and Riddle lay the heavy locket on his other palm. The moment it touched his skin his eyes widened and he took in a sharp breath.

“Are you alright?” Remus said immediately. Marina noticed that he had not put away his wand.

“I – I can see it,” Riddle gasped.

“See what?” Remus demanded, grip on his wand tightening. Marina took another step back.

“His face… the man who was killed…” Riddle seemed transfixed. He slowly let the locket slide off his hand and hang in front of him from its long chain, holding it out like it was a poisonous snake. It swung innocently before them like a pendulum. Riddle let out a long breath, staring at it hard. “I can feel it.” He swallowed hard. “And it can feel me.”

Remus nodded tensely. “We must do this now before it has any chance to retaliate,” he said in a low voice. With that, he ushered them out of the room and through the dark halls of the house. They heard the telling sounds of pots clanging around in the basement kitchen beneath them as they passed the staircase and hurried past, hoping that Kreacher would not notice them. They made it out the front door and Remus tentatively closed it behind them.

“Right,” he sighed, relaxing a bit. “Let’s get to the footpath.”

As they crossed the gate, the house behind them let out a long groan and immediately receded between number 11 and 13 without a trace. Unaffected, Remus drew from his robes a golden chain off of which hung a gleaming device composed of a series of interlocking rings that seemed to gently orbit each other. Sure enough, upon closer inspection Marina could see little planets travelling along each of the rings. In the very centre, suspended in the middle of a thin bar was a tiny hourglass filled with a very active silver fluid that greatly resembled liquid mercury.

“Remember, you need to turn the hourglass once per year you wish to travel, but to get back you only need press this button,” Remus reminded them, pointing to the little gold button in the middle of the small dial on the timeturner’s side.

“Easy to press accidentally,” Marina muttered, a bit worried.

“Be careful,” Remus said, fixing her with a stern look. Marina expected him to place the chain over their necks but instead he drew something else from his pockets.

“This is Muggle money – from the forties,” he said, extending a handful of coins towards Marina who took it immediately. “In case you need it.”

“Thanks,” said Marina, stowing the loose coins in her pocket and wondering how much it was worth in modern currency.

“Now, we know the right decade, but which year are you aiming for?” Remus asked.

“1948,” Riddle said suddenly.

Marina and Remus looked at him in surprise.

“I could – I could see it when I held the locket,” Riddle said, seeming to falter at their scrutiny. “Voldemort kills him in 1949 so we should go for 1948.”

As he said ‘Voldemort’ Riddle’s voice had gone thick like the word had caught in his throat – he had already gone by that name at school, Marina reminded herself, but she supposed it had very different connotations to him now. _‘Or he’s faking it…’_

“I see,” Remus said slowly. He had a look in his eyes that Marina took to mean that he was making careful note of everything that was happening to tell Dumbledore later. “And you feel like you can find him? The man who was killed?”

Riddle’s jaw tightened. He didn’t reach Remus’ gaze, but he nodded stiffly.

“Alright,” Remus said, lacing the chain around their necks and giving the timeturner to Marina. “Riddle,” he said, turning to him. “You have a watch?”

Riddle held out his arm and pulled up the sleeves of his Slytherin robes revealing a small, simple watch face. Remus tapped it with his wand and a sheen washed over it before vanishing without a trace. “You mustn’t stay longer than six hours,” Remus told them in an authoritative voice. “Your watch will let you know when you are running out of time, but try not to let it get that close.”

They both nodded in unison.

“We have to turn it forty-three times,” Riddle said, looking directly at Marina.

She immediately glanced down at the timeturner, holding it up before them. “Okay,” she said firmly. “Let’s do this.”

Marina took the delicate dial between her fingers, trying to fight down the fear in her stomach. She held her breath as she made the first turn.

Immediately the world around them vanished. It was unlike anything she’d expected – orange grey clouds engulfed their surroundings like a thick sandstorm and the noise was a deafening cacophony of deep rumbling and an unidentifiable ringing tone that made them both falter. Her fingers came off the dial and the world reappeared, but Remus was gone. A woman walking her dog gave a gasp as she nearly crashed into them on the footpath.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the woman said, clutching her chest. “I didn’t see you there – must have not been looking where I was going…” she had noticed Riddle’s attire and gave them a curious look.

“No worries,” Marina said, breathlessly. Dizziness had already made her vision swim as she realised that they were still blocking the woman’s way. “Sorry,” she seized Riddle’s arm and tugged him aside.

“What was that?” Riddle hissed when the lady had passed them, shooting baffled looks back over her shoulder as her dog yapped in Riddle’s direction. “Why did you stop turning?”

“It – it took me by surprise,” Marina said defensively. She reached for the dial again.

“Only forty-two turns now,” Riddle interjected.

“Yes, thank you,” said Marina testily, “I may have done a Bachelor of Arts but I do think that forty-three minus one is a mathematical equation within my capabilities…” 

Riddle raised his hands as if in surrender but didn’t say another word as she resumed turning the dial, counting each turn in a quiet whisper.

“Two, three, four…”

The clouds billowed around them, consuming the world in the chaotic noise and lights.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

Marina’s head was swimming and she struggled to keep her eyes focused on the little dial in front of her. Riddle seemed largely unaffected and was watching the flickering world around them with fascination.

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…”

A deep, wrenching nausea was pooling in Marina’s stomach and she felt the blood draining from her face as her mouth grew dry and her sight seemed to shimmer like she was looking down a hot tarmac road in the height of summer.

“Thirty-five… thirty-six…”

An angry grey started encroaching in on the outskirts of her vision and she battled to keep upright. Riddle had apparently noticed her state because she felt a hand grip her arm as if to stabilise her.

“Forty… forty-one… forty-two!”

Her hand dropped from the device and she sank heavily against the letterboxes of numbers 11 and 13. The grey slowly retreated from her vision, but the nausea lingered.

"We made it," she gasped. "We survived."

“Are you alright?” Riddle asked, hand still on her arm. Marina suspected it was a big part of why she hadn’t hit the ground as soon as they’d arrived.

“Yeah,” she said, squinting at him. “You don’t feel that?”

He shook his head. She wished he looked more concerned, but he just seemed confused. “It must be because I’m… well…”

“Not technically human yet,” she said in a teasing voice, trying to pass off her state.

Riddle dropped his hand and took the chain off his neck, stepping away from her as he surveyed their surroundings. “We better hurry,” he said, checking his watch.

“Do you know where to go?” Marina asked, stowing the timeturner under her jumper.

“Yes,” Riddle said curtly.

“Where?”

He looked around at her with an expression of great disgust. “Wool’s.”

“The orphanage?” Marina was shocked.

Riddle nodded, mouth a thin line.

“Why? What about –”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Riddle interrupted, making his way down the pavement away from her.

Marina jogged to keep up, looking around for the first time. Riddle had been right – apart from the cars it really did look much the same. There were subtle differences like the design of the streetlamps and the dress of the passers-by, but the similarity was striking.

“London seriously didn’t change much, huh?” Marina mused, ignoring the couple walking passed them who gave her yellow jumper and jeans an aghast look.

“No,” Riddle said, glancing at her. “You couldn’t have brought a disguise, could you? You had to wear trousers to the forties?”

“Ah well, we’ll get ‘em next time,” Marina said breezily. Her head was pounding and she was having difficulty walking in a fully straight line.

“The fact that you’re acting like you’re drunk isn’t helping,” Riddle said harshly as he pulled her out of the way of a man she nearly careened into.

“Listen, that time travel business has me all fucked up,” Marina replied, pressing a hand to her head to try to calm the pounding headache. “Thanks for the sympathy.”

They wove their way through the streets of London for another half an hour of staring pedestrians and strangers whispering overtly behind their hands as they shot Marina disapproving looks.

“I’m getting really sick of this,” Marina muttered as two women crossed the street to avoid passing her. “What’s so horrific about jeans?”

“We’re nearly there,” Riddle said, not sounding happy about it. “Look –” he pointed ahead of them and Marina saw a tall, grim looking concrete building looming at the end of the street.

“You grew up _there_?” she asked, feeling appalled. It was worse than she’d imagined, a grassless yard and severe wrought iron fencing making it look more like a prison. A decent portion of the fence had been blown apart by what she assumed must have been wartime damage, but the rubble and ruined iron had been left uncleared, giving the building an abandoned feel.

Riddle didn’t answer – he had turned suddenly down a narrow, dingy alleyway between two tall brick buildings.

“Hey –” Marina called, rushing to follow him. “Where –”

Riddle motioned for her to be quiet and she fell silent. They passed an overflowing dumpster and Marina suddenly saw what they were there for.

Against the dark brick wall of one of the buildings lay a very thin, very dirty man. He had what looked like five different coats on, each a very different style, but none seemed to be doing the trick because he shivered hard as he slept. His face was caked with dirt, and his lips were split and raw. A wild beard obscured his face, and long, mangy hair hung down from his greasy head. His face looked oddly young – maybe in his thirties – but was very worn and weathered giving him a drawn, aged appearance. His eyes were firmly shut but Marina could see them moving around rapidly beneath his eyelids, and he twitched and gave small noises like he was having a nightmare.

“Is that him?” Marina whispered. The sight of the man had filled her with a deep sadness.

Riddle nodded silently. He was also staring at the man, his expression inscrutable.

“What do you want to do?” she asked quietly.

For a long time, Riddle didn’t reply. Then, he turned to her with a jerk. “What should I do?” he asked in an almost harsh tone.

Marina was taken aback but decided to not comment. She frowned. “I have an idea.”

Slowly she crouched, reaching out a hand to gently shake the man awake. As soon as she touched his shoulder, the man jerked up with a shout and pressed his back against the wall. Marina fell back with surprise.

“I’m sorry!” she said quickly, raising a hand towards the panicked man. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just – we wanted to – would you like to come get a meal with us?” she stammered.

But the man wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were affixed on Riddle, chest moving heavily beneath his many layers.

“You,” he said in a croaky voice. “You…”

Marina frowned, confused. There was no way for this man to recognise Riddle…

Riddle avoided her pointed questioning stare. “Hello, Billy.”

A swoop went through Marina like she’d forgotten the last stair. It had never made sense to her when she’d read the books why Voldemort had killed a seemingly random homeless Muggle man for his Horcrux, but she understood now. It wasn’t a random Muggle man. Billy Stubbs cowered before them, Tom Riddle’s childhood bully grown up.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	14. Feathers and Fingernails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: blood, seizure, CPR._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

**MARINA WATCHED AS** Billy eagerly tucked into the eggs and bacon on his plate. He was only eating on one side of his mouth, since the other half of his jaw was swollen and scarred looking from some sort of old injury that had twisted up his lip and consumed most of the nearby teeth. The years had exacted a mighty toll on Billy.

They sat at a small, simple café with old-fashioned furniture – though Marina supposed it was very modern for the era. It was quiet with only a few other patrons and a waitress who was attending them kept giving them curious looks. They must have made a very strange-looking trio – a teenage boy in wizard robes, a woman in jeans, and a messy, wild-looking man who was inhaling food at breakneck speed.

Marina looked down at her cup of tea and stirred a teaspoon of sugar into the milky drink, sipping it with great relish. Sitting next to her, Riddle had opted for hot water with a slice of lemon which he was yet to touch. 

After devouring half the plate of food, Billy looked up at the two of them, askance. “So ‘ow come you look like tha’ then?” he asked as he started on the beans and toast. He had a very strong Cockney accent and Marina had to lean forward to concentrate when he spoke. Billy didn’t seem to care though. So far he had paid Marina very little attention – his eyes were fixed on Riddle.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Riddle said coolly.

“You ‘aven’t aged a day, ‘ave ya?” Billy accused.

“I’ve been lucky, I suppose,” Riddle replied, not quite meeting Billy’s eyes as he laced his fingers through the fine handle of his cup.

“Can’t say the same abou’ me though, can ya?” said Billy. He gave a strange, grating laugh that drew the stares of the other patrons. Billy’s expression turned suspicious again. “Then ‘ow come you’re dressed like tha’?” He swivelled to Marina. “An’ you, you’re dressed funny, too.”

“We’re going to a costume party later,” Marina said dismissively. “Billy, can you tell me about what happened to you?”

“Where to star’,” Billy said with another bark of a laugh, accepting her excuse almost too easily. He returned to his meal with gusto.

“How about with when I left for… my school,” Riddle prompted in a tight voice. He seemed deeply uncomfortable and Marina shot him a slightly concerned look.

“Oh yeah, tha’ school of yours,” Billy nodded, expression going distant. “You know, afta you wen’ away the firs’ time, we all dreamed they’d come for us, too. Couldn’t believe you got out, know wha’ I mean?”

Riddle raised his cup and took a sip. Marina stared – it was the first time she’d ever seen him consume anything.

“Anyway, fings got bad when you was gone away at school,” Billy continued. “The war got worse, an’ all the good food stopped coming after the donations stopped, remember tha’? No one’s got no money for orphans when they can’t feed their own kids, do they?” Billy laughed again and kept eating. Marina and Riddle listened in dead silence. “We was always so jealous when you’d come back from school looking fed, an’ we was like li’il skele’ons. Tha’s why you was the tallest, we always said, ‘cos you ate the best.”

Riddle took another sip of his drink.

“Missus Cole ‘ad me out working a day afta me twewf birfday, to get some extra dosh in,” Billy was saying to his plate as Marina strained to catch it all. “Got a job in a fishing wharf, ‘elped ‘em unpack the boats I did,” he gave a smile that revealed half his teeth were completely missing. “Then one day one of the boys frew a fish a bit too ‘eavy an’ smacked me face, knocked ou’ a toof,” he gestured to the side of his mouth with no teeth. “Got all infected, swollen up like a balloon I was. No one was adopting me with a face like tha’ leaking pus everywhere an’ smelling like a dead body, was they? Sure you remember tha’ aye Tom, the smell would stink out the whole floor!”

“What happened when you turned eighteen?” Riddle asked evenly.

“Kicked me out, didn’t they!” Billy said immediately. “On the streets, I was. Can’t blame ‘em though, every year there was more of us those days wif the war an’ all tha’. Missus Cole couldn’t keep up, know wha’ I mean. Not enuff food, not enuff beds, it was ‘avoc. But you know tha’.” Billy chewed slowly on a piece of bread. “Plus wif all the bombs wrecking the place. They tried to rebuild it but there wasn’t no money for it. Been abandoned eva since.”

“What happened to the kids? The ones who still lived there?” Marina asked in a near whisper.

“Don’t know,” Billy shrugged, “moved around, I ‘spect. Anova orphanage maybe, or to rich peoples ‘ouses if they was feeling generous, tha’ sort of fing.”

“And you stayed here? Close by?” Riddle asked.

“Nowhere else to go, is there? No one’s giving me a job wif a mug like this, an’ I neva went to much school or nuffin’,” Billy shrugged again, but after a second he looked up at Riddle with a smile

“I ‘ope you did somefing wif yourself though, Tom! You was so lucky to get into tha’ school of yours.”

Riddle didn’t look like he knew how to reply, he was looking at Billy with an expression much akin to a child being caught out of bed. The silence was dragging on longer and longer, until –

“Thank you for telling us, Billy” Marina said quickly. "And... I'm really sorry, it sounds..." she couldn't think of the right word – horrific? Painful? Unimaginable? They all seemed too small.

"Tha's alright," Billy said, a bit sheepishly.

Marina remembered something - she pulled the rest of the coins out of her pocket and slid them across the table to him. “Take this if you like, I hope it helps a bit.”

Billy stared at the coins in shock – Marina realised that it was probably quite a bit of money for the time. “Fank you,” he said shakily, pushing them into a waiting hand and carefully stowing them in the pocket of his inner most jacket. He leveled Marina with a sincere look. “Tha’s very kind.”

“No worries,” she said with a smile she didn’t really feel. Billy’s life had been hard to listen to, she couldn’t imagine what it had been like to live. “Maybe you could go see a doctor about your jaw?”

“No promises,” Billy said with a bit of his former joviality. “If it comes down to choosin’ food or a docta, I’m pickin’ food.”

“Fair enough,” Marina shrugged, struggling to keep her smile.

“I’m sorry, Billy,” Riddle said quietly. “About your rabbit.”

Billy fell very still. Marina looked around at Riddle, taken aback.

“Didn’t ‘spect you to remember,” Billy mumbled. His cheerfulness had completely vanished.

“I do,” said Riddle evenly.

There was a tense pause.

“Well, ‘spose I’m sorry for teasing you then,” said Billy uncomfortably. “We was only jealous, really, tha’ you ‘ad somewhere to go, an’ we was stuck there foreva.”

Riddle nodded but said nothing.

“You know,” Billy said slowly. “We always thought there was somefing a bit… odd… about you, Tom.”

Riddle visibly tensed.

“No offense meant,” said Billy, quickly. “Just… is that why you look so much the same? Was it somefing you learned at tha’ school of yours?”

Riddle paused. “Yes,” he said finally. Technically it was not a lie.

Billy nodded slowly. “I ‘ope you do somefing wif all what you learnt there,” he said with the ghost of a smile. “Make somefing of yehself.” He was looking at Riddle with a curious expression of some deep sadness mingled with admiration and longing.

There was a crash as Riddle’s cup fell to the table and spilled hot water across the surface.

“Riddle!” Marina exclaimed in shock as boiling water saturated her lap. “What the hell –”

She was cut off by the waitress giving a high-pitched shriek and the noise of seats scraping hastily across the floor. Riddle was on the ground of the café, convulsing. Marina kicked back her chair and fell to her knees beside him, forcefully pushing the table out of the way of Riddle’s twitching limbs. Billy was hovering next to them looking fearful and uncertain.

“It’s a seizure,” Marina said in a shaky voice, “It’s dangerous to restrain someone having a seizure, we have to wait –”

Riddle fell dead limp, blood oozing heavily from his nose and down his cheek. Marina hastily reached forward to check his breath – but felt nothing. She pressed her fingers against his throat and tried to calm her own racing pulse enough to feel his own – but still she felt nothing.

“Shit,” she swore, feeling panic surge through her. She quickly tilted Riddle’s head back and through the panic, tried to force her mind to focus on doing CPR. Her hands were shaking so badly that she could barely place them on top of each other on Riddle’s chest as she started the compressions, counting them in her swirling head. She knew she had to get Riddle back to the present as soon as she could, that he needed help, but she was too scared to stop the CPR. 

“Billy,” she gasped as she compressed. “Around my neck – there’s a necklace – get it –”

Billy looked confused but leaped forward all the same, fumbling for the chain. He tugged on it and the timeturner appeared from Marina’s sweater, hanging between them.

“Put it around his neck too – so it’s on both of us –" Marina said as she pinched Riddle’s nose for the two rescue breaths.

When she returned to compressions, the golden chain was around both their necks and Billy was kneeling beside her waiting for her next instruction, a look of terror on his face. Before she went to press the button on the side of the timeturner, Marina noticed that all of the other patrons of the café were standing around the edge of the room watching them with horror-stricken faces.

_Shit._

“Can you get them away?” Marina huffed to Billy through the exertion. “Please –”

To her immense relief, he immediately leapt to his feet. “Alright you lot, outta here! We’ve got a very sick man ‘ere – an’ he’s very CONTAGIOUS! Out with ya before you come down yehselves!” he bellowed, waving his hands emphatically as he made towards them. The onlooking crowd gave panicked shouts and hastily started for the door without a moment’s hesitation.

“Thank you,” Marina said breathlessly as she kept with the compressions. “You better go –”

“He’ll be alright? I can go find someone –”

“He’ll be okay,” Marina said hurriedly, growing nervous as Riddle’s face grew more and more pale. “Now go!”

Billy stared a moment longer and then tore from the room. The second he had turned his back, Marina slammed her hand into the button and the café was consumed by the same grey clouds with their strange orange tingle, billowing around them as the world spun so hard that Marina seized Riddle’s arms to keep from sliding away. It was nothing like their first journey – it felt like they were a tail spinning plane, like they’d been launched from 1948 in nothing more than the general direction of 1991 and the spells on the timeturner were the pilot’s feeble attempts to guide them into a safe landing.

Just when Marina thought she was going to lose her grip on Riddle, everything went still and they were in the exact same café forty years in the future. A scream rang through the room as people began noticing them and their inexplicable appearance. Marina kept compressing Riddle’s chest with one hand as she plunged the other into her pocket and wrenched out the phoenix feather.

“Help!” she shouted, the feather pressed between her hands as she returned both to compressions. “Get here NOW!”

Barely a second later, flames erupted beside her as Fawkes appeared with Dumbledore beneath him. Dumbledore took one look at them and drew his wand. With a flick, the room fell silent and Marina could only guess that there had been some memory magic involved too. She pinched Riddle’s nose as she gave two more rescue breaths.

“He just collapsed,” she gasped as she returned to compressions. “I don’t – it just happened –”

Dumbledore just stowed his wand, knelt, and reached out a hand to the two of them. With a familiar horrible sucking sensation in the pit of her stomach she felt him Disapparate with them and suddenly they were somewhere else with a tiled floor, but Marina didn’t look up, furiously continuing the compressions as the line of Riddle’s blood pooled in his hair. She could hear Dumbledore’s voice, saw people appear next to her in lime-green robes, saw them waving wands over Riddle and his body lifting as they hurried him away. She sat back on the floor, exhausted, unable to think straight.

Dumbledore’s face swam in front of her, but she couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t focus on anything. The world was spinning, something hot was trickling down her face, and then everything went black.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The pressure of the bedspread over tucked in the single bed, the stiffness of sheets, the slight roughness of them, the unfamiliar pillows. Marina knew she was in a hospital bed before she even opened her eyes.

Slowly her vision cleared, and she caught sight of her hands lying on the bed before her. Her nail beds had gone an ugly, uniform purple and the tips of her fingers were bone white. She felt her face and sure enough, padding was strapped around her nose for the constant bleeds. The effects that time travel had on her were as consistent as they were horrible.

Marina groaned and let her hand fall.

“Marina?” said an unfamiliar voice from beside her.

She looked around in surprise to see someone sitting in a chair next to her bed, a person she’d never laid eyes on but who she recognised instantly. The woman before her was plump with a shock of red hair and warm brown eyes. She was holding a pair of knitting needles with a second pair hovering of their own accord above them, all four knitting some inscrutable woollen garment that rolled down her lap out of sight.

“Mrs Weasley?” Marina croaked.

Mrs Weasley’s face softened. “Dumbledore mentioned you might recognise me,” she smiled, putting the knitting aside as she reached forward to place a hand on Marina’s arm. “How are you feeling, dear?”

“How long has it been?” Marina rasped, trying to sit up.

“Now don’t strain yourself, the Healers have been insistent that you rest as long as possible,” Mrs Weasley said sternly – Marina immediately laid back down, chronically unable to disobey any mother figure she met. “And you’ve been here about a week now.”

“A _week?_ Where’s Riddle? Is he alright?” said Marina all at once, pushing herself upright again in alarm.

“He’s fine – Marina, lie down,” Mrs Weasley said, gently pushing her back. “You need to rest –”

Marina’s mind was spinning. She wanted to ask if it had worked, if the Horcrux had been healed, but she didn’t know how much Dumbledore had told Mrs Weasley. Something hot started pooling around her nose and she tasted blood spreading through her mouth.

“Healer!” Mrs Weasley called calmly. “It’s happened again!”

A wizard in lime-green robes appeared on Marina’s other side and began removing the padding around her nose with gentle wand movements.

“I’ll be right back, dear,” Mrs Weasley said as she stood very calmly. “You’re in good hands. Try not to get worked up, alright?”

She gave Marina’s arm a pat and then moved out of sight as the Healer gripped Marina’s chin to hold her face steady. He gently tapped his wand on her face and tears budded in Marina’s eyes at the sensation of all the blood in her nose immediately coagulating, pulling on the sensitive hairs and skin.

“Oh my _God,”_ she said, squeezing her eyes shut.

Not a moment later and to her great relief, another slight tap made the clots vanish. As the Healer was restrapping her nose, she saw a small group approaching her bed in her peripheral vision.

“Hold on a sec, whoever you are,” she called to them apologetically. “I’m getting embalmed or something, pulling my brain out with a hook like an Egyptian mummy –”

“It’s just padding,” the Healer said to the newcomers, sounding exasperated. He finished the padding and stepped away quickly, as if glad to have it over with.

“Sorry about that,” Marina said as she looked around.

Mrs Weasley had brought guests – Dumbledore and Remus stood before her, the former dressed in sky blue robes with silver embroidered clouds, the latter in his typical slightly patched garb that brought out the slight greying in his hair. Both wore smiles, and behind them stood –

“Riddle!” gasped Marina. “You’re okay? What happened?”

Riddle stepped forward and Marina saw for the first time the state he was in. His face was slightly hollowed, his eyes dark, and shadows fell deeper under his cheeks than before. He looked older in the same way Remus looked older – not by age but by hardship. In contrast to Dumbledore and Remus, he was not smiling. In fact, he didn’t look happy at all.

“Yes,” he said in a flat voice, “I’m alright.”

He failed to elaborate. The fact that he had neglected to answer her second question did not escape her, and Marina cast a questioning look at the other two wizards.

“Perhaps, Tom, you could help me fetch Marina’s things from downstairs,” Mrs Weasley said subtly, giving Riddle a warm smile.

She placed a hand on his back as if to coax him away. Riddle nodded and followed her away without another word.

“What happened?” Marina repeated, as soon as they were out of earshot.

Remus sighed and took the chair that Mrs Weasley had occupied as Dumbledore summoned another one and sat next to him. “Before we get into that, how are you feeling?” Remus asked her, leaning forward.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” Marina gave a dismissive wave. “Just – what’s going on?”

“Concern for others is an admirable trait Marina,” Dumbledore said, tilting his head forward to survey her, “but not if it comes at the cost of your own wellbeing.”

Marina gave an inpatient sigh. “I’m the same as last time, weird fingernails, bleeding noses, the headaches – it’ll go away with time. What’ll really make me feel better is someone telling me what the heck happened with Riddle!”

“Alright,” Dumbledore held up a calming hand. “When I Apparated you and Tom here, the Healers took you both into an intensive care ward. Tom’s condition was largely unknown to them, they had very little idea as to an appropriate treatment. What can be said is that whatever you did between the time he fell unconscious and his arrival at St Mungo’s most definitely saved his life.”

“Go on,” Marina prompted anxiously.

Dumbledore laced his fingers together on his lap. “They were able to awaken Tom only a few hours after he arrived. He has been on a steady improvement ever since. It seems…”

“Yes?” asked Marina, urgently.

“It seems like it worked,” Remus finished slowly. “We have kept hold of Slytherin’s necklace but cannot detect any presence within. Riddle no longer feels anything inside it, either. Whatever happened in 1948, it was successful.”

Marina let out a long sigh and leaned back in the pillow, feeling relief wash over her. Her insane plan had paid off… _it had worked._ They had actually done it, they’d healed a Horcrux. Just as she was basking in the success of it, something Remus said caught in her mind, wrenching her back to reality.

“Wait – did you say, ‘whatever happened’?” she asked them curiously.

“Yes,” Remus nodded, “Riddle has said very little about what transpired. We were hoping you might be able to tell us more.”

Marina was flummoxed. She couldn’t understand why Riddle would keep it from them. Knowing that he was under such scrutiny, surely he knew that it would make him seem suspicious.

“I… I’m not sure I should,” she said slowly. “If Riddle wanted to keep it private –”

“Marina, you must understand,” Dumbledore interrupted. “Tom’s feelings on this process may have changed since you last saw him. Before you went to 1948, Tom had no idea how painful and how difficult it would be to take on that part of his soul. He may have felt genuine remorse, but now that he knows what he must go through… he may be unwilling to take on that burden again, let alone multiple times.”

“What are you saying?” said Marina, feeling cold.

“That despite this success, we must be as cautious of Tom as ever,” said Dumbledore, a glint in his bright blue eyes.

Marina felt the energy leech out of her. Looking at Dumbledore before her, she was overwhelmed with the realisation that perhaps the biggest hurdle in their plan wasn’t Riddle’s ability to change, but Dumbledore’s.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	15. Strength of a Different Kind

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **THE SECOND FLOOR** of St Mungo’s was filled with about as diverse a group of ailments Marina had ever seen. Across from her was a man who at first glance looked to be wearing a very frilly multi-layered collar but upon closer inspection was revealed to have fronds of some sort of giant fungus growing off his neck. In the bed next to him, a young girl lay groaning with huge, painful looking purple pustules across her skin. The bed directly adjacent to Marina had appeared empty at first before she realised that its occupant was hovering two metres above the mattress as Healers attempted to pull her back down. On Marina’s other side was a very old man with a head so swollen it looked like a novelty balloon, and his skin had turned a pale pink the exact colour of strawberry chewing gum.

Marina found fascination each morning whilst the Healers made their rounds. The various treatments and comings and goings of the ward never seemed to have a linear explanation, the logic behind magical medicine being founded on completely different principles to anything she’d ever experienced. The man with the fungus growing from his neck was made to do a series of yoga-like poses that seemed to elicit an explosion of spores from the frills which were magically – and eagerly – collected by the Healers into small jars, after which many of the frills seemed to dry up and fall off. Meanwhile, she was surprised to see that the old man beside her had his head re-inflated every morning – it was apparently a part of his treatment, not a symptom.

Mrs Weasley quickly assumed the role of her head carer and she spent as many hours as she could in the ward. There was no doubt that this was on Dumbledore’s request, but nonetheless, it was greatly appreciated since Marina was aware that Mrs Weasley had Ginny to care for as well. When Mrs Weasley was unable to supervise her, Remus often substituted, with the sporadic appearance of Moody – but Mrs Weasley was greatly anticipated because always brought her homemade meals and sweets. She flitted between Marina and Riddle and fussed over both of them in a very heart-warming sort of way. She had immediately assumed the role of attempting to dispel the shadows on Riddle’s cheeks and was constantly plying him with homemade food.

Mrs Weasley spoke about Riddle very fondly to the point where Marina had doubted for a long time if she even knew of the connection between Riddle and Voldemort. Her knowledge of Riddle’s original fate was only revealed after a single offhand comment about how she couldn’t believe that such a nice young boy could grow up to do such horrible things. Marina had sat in uncomfortable silence at this musing, wondering if it was wrong to conceal from her what Riddle had done to Ginny in the series. Not even Dumbledore knew about that; when Marina had first explained the Horcruxes to him many months prior, she’d never said that the student Riddle had lured with the diary into the Chamber of Secrets had been the youngest Weasley.

In fact, everyone had been weirdly tight-lipped about the Horcrux plan since their initial confrontation with Marina. Remus and Dumbledore gently deflected any leaning towards that topic when Marina tried to bring it up, and Moody just straight up ignored it. Apart from Mrs Weasley’s one slip up, Marina hadn’t heard her ever acknowledge their plan regarding Riddle at all. Marina had her own theories as to why everyone was being so evasive. She had gone from being the integral consultant for the plan who was heavily involved in the behind-the-scenes discussions, to being stuck in a ward with Riddle completely in the dark right after she’d made it clear to Dumbledore that she wouldn’t divulge Riddle’s experiences without his permission. Dumbledore had apparently taken this as her declaration of where her loyalties lay. His intention seemed to be to demonstrate that she was deprived of the privilege of their discussions until she talked to Riddle and reported back to them. Marina understood why the others were going along with whatever radio silence Dumbledore had ordered, but it still hurt – especially with Remus. It was a cold reminder that when push came to shove, his alliances along with those of everyone else always fell back to Dumbledore.

The person on the ward with whom she most wanted to speak was in fact the only one who was actively avoiding her – Riddle. Although he had been on a steady improvement, the Healers had demanded that he stay in the ward until he had fully recovered, a decision that Marina suspected Dumbledore had heavily influenced. This was a good thing for Marina who was desperate to talk to him about what had happened with Billy. Unfortunately, Riddle had ideas of his own. He had quickly mastered the ability to predict when she would try to talk to him and was almost always conspicuously absent; she presumed he was wandering around the hospital or taking refuge in the tearoom. When he was in his bed, he was asleep, which Marina actually found more suspicious since she didn’t know if he even needed to sleep. Marina quickly grew sick of the games.

“Riddle,” she said loudly to his sleeping façade. It was late – just past dinner time and most of the ward was surrounded with little gaggles of family members and friends. Visiting hours were a good time to confront him since no one would mind them talking.

He didn’t stir. He looked a bit better than when she’d first seen him a few days prior, but the shadows still cast harsh lines down his face, and he looked paler than before.

“Hey!” she kicked the nearby leg of his bed lightly, arms folded across her chest. “I know you’re awake.”

Riddle opened his eyes very groggily. “I am now,” he said in a gravelly voice.

“Oh, sorry,” Marina said with a sheepish smile, sitting in the seat beside his bed. “Trust the only time I try to wake you up to be the one time you’re actually asleep.”

“Indeed,” Riddle said testily, pushing himself upright and squinting sleepily. Dressed in the crumpled hospital garb, it was the first time she’d seen him in something other than outdated Slytherin robes. He was also significantly less put together than he normally was, and his ruffled hair and sleepy demeanour made him seem much younger. Marina was struck with the reminder that he really was just a teenager. There was something kind of tragic about it, how young he had started making such terrible decisions.

“So, you sleep now?” Marina asked conversationally.

“Yes,” he replied. He wasn’t looking at her, as if withholding eye contact would make her go away sooner.

“You eat too?”

“Yes.”

“Shit, did you have to choose between the ability to eat and sleep and the ability to string multiple words together?”

He glared at her. “You know, I _was_ sleeping just now.”

“And I’ve been trying to talk to you for days. How come you’ve been avoiding me?”

Riddle returned his stony gaze to the vague middle distance. “I haven’t been –”

“If you try to play off that you haven’t been avoiding me Riddle, I swear to _God –”_

“No,” he interrupted, looking irritated. “I haven’t been avoiding _you._ ”

Marina sat silently waiting for him to elaborate, unsatisfied with his answer.

He sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. It was a jarringly human motion that caught Marina off guard. “I’ve been avoiding… this.” Riddle gestured between them. “This conversation.”

“Why?” Marina asked, confounded.

“Because I don’t want to talk about what happened,” he said flatly. 

“Why not?”

His jaw clenched like he was regretting what he’d said already. Marina noticed that his hands were tense too, fists so tight that his knuckles were going white.

“Tom,” she said quietly.

His eyes flashed over to her, seemingly from surprise at her use of his first name more than anything else.

“I’m not going to _make_ you talk to me,” said Marina, leaning her head to the side. “But I think you should. What happened was… difficult.”

“I can manage, thanks,” he said, sarcastically.

“I know,” Marina nodded. “You could probably deal with this whole thing by yourself if you wanted. But that would be stupid, because you don’t have to. You have a lot of people who are willing and capable to help you.”

“What do you suggest? That I pour my heart out to you?” Riddle asked mockingly.

Marina put up her hands as if in surrender. “I’m telling you that I’m here if you want to talk. I was there, I saw what happened… if you want to talk about it with someone, I’m like, five beds down from you.”

He stared at her, the aggression in his eyes slowly dwindling as it was replaced by conflict. Marina thought she could almost hear the cogs in his head turning, calculating, weighing up the risk of letting someone in. The silence dragged on, and she started to realise that whatever he decided to do, he probably wouldn’t be doing it tonight.

“Right,” said Marina bracingly, standing. “I’ll see you around then, open offer to chat.”

“Marina,” Riddle said quickly.

She stopped, waiting for him to speak.

“Your Boggart…”

Marina felt her heart sink.

“It was me, wasn’t it?” he said in a quiet voice.

She gave a hesitant nod. There was no point in lying.

Riddle’s head fell back on the pillows and he looked away. Marina noted again how caved in he looked, like taking on the Horcrux had somehow hollowed him out rather than filled him in.

“I think I knew when I saw it, what it was,” he said finally, tone deceptively even. “But… I don’t understand…” He met her gaze. “Why do _you_ fear it?”

Marina stared. A bit of annoyance bubbled up inside her and she fought to keep it out of her voice. “You… you realise what it means, don’t you?”

His silence spoke volumes. Marina’s frustration grew.

“Seeing your soul like that means… this was all for nothing,” she said emphatically. “Not just all of this” – she gestured angrily between them in their hospital garb – “but _everything_. All those hours with the Order and trying to convince Dumbledore, and… my life.” She blinked furiously, trying to stop her stupid eyes from watering. “Being taken from it and being put here for this – I don’t even have the luxury of being able to miss my old life because even _that_ was taken from me. If it was all for nothing, and you ended up like that anyway, I just…”

Riddle’s expression had closed off. “That’s why you want me to do this, isn’t it? To get back to your life?” he said coldly.

“Don’t,” she said angrily, “don’t you dare try to turn my grief at losing everyone and everything I know into some horrible reasoning about how I only want you to do this for selfish reasons. I am capable of wanting you to succeed because I care and _also_ because I have a lot on the line, Riddle.”

His eyes flashed. “Back to calling me ‘Riddle’ then? That didn’t last long,” he snapped.

Marina knew she was too angry to say anything she wouldn’t regret. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said abruptly. “I need some space from this.”

She left without giving him time to respond, not that his stony expression suggested that he had much to say. Marina made her way back to her bed avoiding eye contact with the milling visitors and fellow patients on the ward. She got under the covers, pulled them up over her head and felt tears pressing in on her eyes.

 _‘For tonight_ ,’ she told herself firmly, ‘ _you can be upset for tonight, but by tomorrow morning, it’s back in the game_.’

Immediately the tears overflowed and rolled down her cheeks, soaking the linen sheets beneath her. All the loss and loneliness and frustration and fear, every thought of doubt and suspicion, every morning she’d woken feeling orphaned tears on her face like her body knew who she should be grieving for when her mind wasn’t looking, every time she’d missed her plant collection, her phone, her music, her sports – Marina let them all creep out in the safety under the sheets. For tonight, this was okay.

Riddle, Dumbledore, Horcruxes – they could wait until tomorrow.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Breakfast on the ward was a depressing affair the next morning. It was a dreary day with cold grey light weakly filtering in from the raindrop dotted windows, and Mrs Weasley hadn’t yet arrived. Marina was sitting on her bed with a huge blanket bunched thickly around her shoulder like a ridiculously oversized scarf, sullenly munching dry toast. Her eyes were slightly swollen and tired, a hangover from crying the previous night. It was taking significantly longer for her to wake up than usual, her brain foggy and bleary.

From her side she saw someone approaching her and couldn’t help but give a disbelieving snort. She’d chased Riddle down for days and he just had to show up the morning after she’d had a minor break down. He was dressed in his regular Slytherin robes which she realised must be the only outfit he actually owned.

“Morning,” she said dully, biting her toast.

Riddle just sat in the chair beside her silently. He looked very agitated.

“Listen, I’m not in the best place right now, if you want to talk, can we do this later?” Marina said, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sorry but I just –”

“How do I know that you’re not just going to tell Dumbledore everything that I say to you?” Riddle demanded.

Marina gave a deep breath, eyes closed. “I’m not going to do that –”

“And how do I know that you’re not going to use what I tell you against me?” he continued aggressively.

“I’m not interested in –” she began.

Riddle was relentless. “How am I supposed to –”

“Riddle,” she snapped, dropping the toast onto the tray on her lap and looking at him. “Can you shut up a second, please.”

He scowled but did as she asked.

“I am not interested in trying to coerce you into trusting me,” she said. “Either you do, or you don’t. I just wanted to tell you that if you want to talk, you can. And I’m not exactly in Dumbledore’s good books at the moment, so it’s not like I have a lot to lose if you asked me to keep things confidential,” she sighed. “Well, unless I was worried that you were in danger or something, I don’t know, maybe then I’d say something.” She shook her hand dismissively, realising she was traipsing off track. “My point is… I’m here if you need me, alright? Lots of people are. Remus would be here in a flash if you asked him to come. I think even Moody would show up if you wrote to him. And Mrs Weasley is stupidly fond of you already - if you went to them, they’d be there for you, same as me.”

He was scrutinising her like he was trying to catch something in her face, some marker of motive or deception.

Marina shrugged heavily. “It’s honestly up to you,” she said, picking up her toast again.

Riddle was looking at her with more of his normal cool detachment rather than the frenetic suspicion from before. “You don’t look very good,” he said bluntly. “What happened?”

“I was crying last night,” Marina said blandly, chewing her toast. “Things are rough at the moment.”

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “If you can’t figure _that_ out, you’re not half as good at reading people as I thought you were.”

He didn’t respond to her ribbing, he just looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re lonely,” he said definitively.

Marina looked away, exhaling a sharp breath. She wasn’t really in the right headspace to be prodded by Riddle right now.

“You could talk to those people too, if you wanted,” Riddle said, not comfortingly but more like he was trying to figure something out. “But you don’t. Why don’t you?”

“I do talk to them,” Marina said to her toast, trying to not sound defensive.

“Not about how you’re feeling,” Riddle countered.

She felt her jaw clench. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He wasn’t letting it go - Marina felt her emotion overflow. “I’m supposed to be this optimistic pillar rooting for you way too hard to counter everyone else’s constant flow of suspicion and doubt! How do you think they’ll act if I tell them that I feel exhausted, and frustrated, and lonely, and uncertain? That I want to go home? That I feel like I’ve had something cut out of me and I’m here for this one purpose that I’m scared I’m failing? What will they do if they know that the one person who is supposed to believe in this more than anyone else doesn’t know what the hell is going on in your head? If I’m scared that you’re not going to keep going?" 

Marina paused, breathing heavily. Things were coming out of her mouth that she hadn't even realised she felt. "Dumbledore’s acting like he’s looking for the first hint that you’re going down the wrong track to prove that he’s always been right to distrust you, and I have to pretend that it doesn’t freak me the fuck out that you’re hiding from everyone and refusing to talk about what happened with Billy! I’m not _allowed_ to think this shit, because if I do then things are over for you, and then it would be _my_ fault!”

Riddle looked taken aback. “I – I didn’t realise –”

“No, you didn’t,” Marina interrupted fiercely. “That doesn’t surprise me.” She took another breath, trying to calm herself. “But you’ve had your own shit going on.”

“The reason I didn’t want to talk about what happened,” said Riddle, quietly. “It’s not because I’m considering leaving. It’s because…” he paused, looking very conflicted. “I don’t really know what happened.”

“What do you mean?” Marina asked, frowning slightly.

“I don’t know what happened with Billy,” said Riddle, agitated. “We were talking in that café and – and I was thinking about the things he was saying, and then –” Riddle leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and his lips pressed together tightly. “I thought it would be like a moment of realisation, or I’d hear something, think something, and then it would happen,” he swallowed hard. “But it wasn’t like that. We were talking and then – everything went black, and there was pain, and…” he trailed off, expression turbulent.

“What was it like to talk to him?” Marina prompted gently.

“At the beginning, I was angry,” he said, eyes distant. “At Billy, at my circumstances, at everything. It felt ridiculous that I was even there, that I had to do any of it.” Riddle shook his head slightly. “As Billy was talking, I started thinking that he had lived the life that I could have been destined to live had I no magical blood. He was everything I’d sworn to myself I’d never become, someone that everyone ignored and looked past without seeing, just another orphaned child, a nobody left unwanted on the streets.” Riddle paused, clenching his hands into fists and then opening them again like he was trying to rid himself of some great tension. “I didn’t understand how he’d kept going, to have so little to move towards and to keep moving nonetheless. I couldn’t tell if it was impressive or piteous.”

“It’s impressive,” Marina said quietly. “Billy was incredibly strong.”

“You don’t understand,” Riddle said, exasperated. “My strength comes from my magic, my capabilities set me apart from Billy, I have known that ever since I can remember. I can do things that Billy could not even imagine. According to you, I became the greatest Dark Wizard the magical world had ever seen! Did things no one else even thought were possible!”

“What’s your point?” Marina asked with a slight bite to her words. She wasn’t fond of the way Riddle was talking.

“That – that Billy did something that I couldn’t do,” Riddle said, sounding deflated. “That he lived the life I abhorred, that after the things he had endured, after our own history, he still…”

“He was still able to be kind to you,” said Marina quietly.

Riddle nodded tensely. “He was given no escape, no gifts, nothing that could come close to my own capabilities… and yet I could see…”

Marina awaited what he was going to say, but he had trailed off, letting whatever realisation he’d had flicker out before he said it. He shook his head, looking up at her like he had come out of a trance.

“I thought remorse would be a singular emotion,” Riddle said, expression almost fearful. “But it is… more than I anticipated. Harder, even than I expected.”

“Remorse is understanding,” Marina said softly. “Seeing the feelings of someone else, feeling them yourself, knowing what it truly means to have done what you have done.”

“But apart from the pain, I don’t even feel different from before,” he said, frustrated. “How could I have taken on some of my own soul and not feel any different except for more pain?”

“All Voldemort did was inflict pain,” said Marina firmly. “To feel remorse for those actions means that you have to take on some of that pain yourself. This process will not be easy – it’ll be long and painful. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it.”

Riddle’s brow furrowed deeply. “I don’t know if…” he swallowed again. “I’m not sure I can do it again.”

Marina’s heart sank, and he quickly looked up.

“Not because I don’t think it should be done,” he said hastily, “but because it was… I felt…”

He was struggling to articulate whatever thought was in his head and clenched his fists again.

“I felt like I was dying,” Riddle said, voice hollow. “When I woke up here, I was confused because I thought that I’d been dying.”

Marina had gone very still and very silent. If she knew anything about Riddle, it was that death was no mean subject to him. Riddle had also stilled, everything about him looking tense and turbulent.

“It’s okay,” she said, softly. “It’s okay that you don't want to do it again. It sounds like it was a pretty horrible experience.”

He nodded like what she had said was an understatement, which Marina assumed was the case.

“And I can also understand why you didn’t want Dumbledore to know about this. Hardly the sort of thing he’d take with a pinch of salt…” said Marina with a small smile.

Riddle didn’t return it, but he’d managed to focus his gaze on her and some of the wildness had gone from his expression.

“This is hard,” she said, “but it’s not impossible. You have the strength to do it again. Maybe not right away, but you will. You have to. You’ve seen what happens if you don’t.”

Riddle grimaced, making Marina feel guilty at being so harsh.

“It’s not going to be easy,” she said, more gently. “But you have a lot of people who are going to help you.”

“Like Dumbledore?” Riddle said sarcastically.

“Dumbledore may be slow to trust you, but he would never intentionally sabotage you,” Marina rolled her eyes again. “He has too much of a fascination with the ‘greater good’ for that. The benefits of you doing this far outweigh whatever personal conflict it puts on him.”

“What do you mean, personal conflict?” Riddle asked, an amused glint in his eyes.

Marina raised an eyebrow cheekily. “Your successes force him to come face to face with living proof that he was wrong and that he fucked up. If you’re looking for a way to piss him off, I’d highly recommend going further down this road.”

Riddle shook his head in mock disbelief. “You want me to fix my soul to spite Dumbledore?”

“No,” Marina said, feigning scandalisation. “I want you to fix your soul for _many_ reasons. Spiting Dumbledore can just be one of them.”

Riddle gave a small huff of a laugh and stood. “You’re a bad influence on me,” he smirked.

“You tell the Order that if you like, see if they believe you,” she grinned.

Just then, the door to the ward opened and both of them looked up to see Mrs Weasley bustling towards them, her arms laden with baskets which Marina assumed were filled with baked goods and a hot meal for each of them.

“We can talk more later, if you like,” Marina said to Riddle as the plump witch gave them caught their eye and gave a small wave, which Marina cheerfully returned.

“Okay,” Riddle said in an even voice.

Marina hid her smile at his reply. As Mrs Weasley approached, the loneliness, the helplessness, and the shadowy grief that had plagued her all night seemed far away.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	16. Concede and Consider

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA TURNED THE** page of her book and read the next paragraph intently.

_'Parseltongue more heavily relies on intonation and context to express concepts, rather than other languages which combine specific vocabulary with grammar to convey meaning. This feature is why Parseltongue is so rarely taught successfully – those born with the natural ability to distinguish the minute tonal differences of the language have an immeasurable advantage over those attempting to find meaning in a relatively monotonous hissing sound.'_

The passage’s mentioning of natural born Parselmouths, like all those before it, reminded Marina of Riddle. Marina hadn’t seen Riddle in weeks – as soon as they had gotten out of hospital, Dumbledore had sent him to stay with Moody, and had arranged a new job for Marina in Diagon Alley working in the Magical Menagerie. Verna, the stern, greying witch who ran the place didn’t care that she couldn’t do magic, only that she kept the animals fed and happy, and dealt with the odd customer when things were busy. Marina’s lodgings had been relocated to a small room at the top of the Leakey Cauldron where her plant collection was scattered around the various spots that received the most sunlight.

Marina liked the shop, she liked the cats and owls, the rats and pygmy puffs, she especially liked the little bats with their pointy faces and fluffy bodies. She even liked Verna, in a way perhaps only Verna could be liked – her gruff, blunt exterior was reassuring, she said exactly what she was thinking, and you could always tell when it was break time because clouds of noxious purple smoke would come wafting past the back room where the old witch was sitting outside puffing on a long pipe. The shop was nice, exploring Diagon Alley was nice, her room at the Leakey Cauldron was nice, but something was missing.

Riddle had been right – she was lonely. It ate away at her in the slow, wilting way that loneliness does, slowly gaining the smallest centimetre of her heart each day. Being isolated from everyone wasn’t helping, especially after her and Riddle had started having real conversations on the ward whilst they were stuck there.

Just then, the clock on the far wall of Obscurus Books chimed and Marina looked up in shock. She swore – she only had three minutes to get back to the other end of Diagon Alley. She wrenched herself from the chair and raced up to the counter.

“Just this, please,” she said hastily to the shopkeeper.

“Finally buying it, eh?” he said jovially. “You’ve been pouring over that one for a while. What do we have here then” – he turned the book over, frowning when he saw the title – “‘ _Parsing Parseltongue – Gift or Curse?_ ’”

The shopkeeper gave her a piercing look. “Aren’t you the Muggle who works at the Magical Menagerie?”

“Yes,” she said shortly, bristling.

“What’s a Muggle interested in Parseltongue for?” he asked suspiciously, ringing her up.

Marina handed him eight galleons. “It’s interesting,” she said defensively, taking the book as he handed it to her.

Ignoring the judgemental look he gave her, Marina sprinted out the door and out into the snow. Dodging the crowds, she hastened back to Magical Menagerie at top speed. She burst through the back door and called an apology to the owls who ruffled their feathers angrily at her reckless entry, hoping Verna the shopkeeper hadn’t noticed her late return.

“Marina!” she heard the gruff witch call from the front shop.

She froze. “Yeah?” she called back with what she hoped was a convincing tone of nonchalance.

“There’s a customer here for you!” Verna yelled.

Marina sighed with relief. Before heading into the front, she leaned heavily against the doorframe. Although she’d been out of St Mungo’s for two months now, the excursion back from Obscurus Books had her feeling some unpleasant effects – her head was aching an there was a feverish sensitivity on her skin by her ribs where the strange, green-tinged bruises were still fading.

“Marina!” Verna yelled, her voice louder as she approached the back room. “Get out there, girl,” Verna said gruffly, extracting her long pipe from her robes as she passed Marina and made a beeline for the back exit.

Marina jerked around and hurried out the door into the shop. “Sorry for the delay! I was –”

“No need to apologise,” Dumbledore smiled. He stood by the display of toads of every colour and size, the largest of which had fixed its beady eyes on the bright silver buttons of Dumbledore’s fuchsia suit and was shifting hungrily.

“Careful sir, Gilbert’s got an eye on you there,” Marina hurried over, leaving her new book on the counter to pick up Gilbert’s massive yellowy green body and place him in the tank next to the front entrance where he burped and rumbled grumpily.

“You appear to have settled in well,” Dumbledore said, appraising her.

“Yeah, it’s nice here,” Marina said as casually as she could. She was still kind of pissed off at Dumbledore for leaving her in Diagon Alley for nearly two months with next to zero information.

“I trust that you are quite recovered,” said Dumbledore, looking around the store with interest. “It’s time for our quest to resume.”

“Oh?” Marina said, crouching to pat Dina, the slinky black cat that had been dropped off at the store the day before. Dina blinked up with her neon green eyes and nuzzled her head against Marina’s knee. “Which Horcrux is next?”

“Tom has decided that the diadem –”

“Riddle chose?” Marina asked in surprise.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore softly, “We met just last week to arrange everything.”

A cold feeling cut across Marina – they hadn’t even bothered to get her to come for the planning meeting. Feeling a little hurt, Marina stood and pushed her hair behind her shoulders as she made her way back behind the counter.

“I suppose that means we have to go to Albania,” she said, frowning slightly.

“Indeed. Remus and Alastor have agreed to accompany you, since I remain unwilling to allow Tom to travel through magical means. It will be a long journey, though fortunately – if I recall correctly – you are a fan of trains,” Dumbledore said with a gleam in his eye.

“Sure,” Marina said tiredly. “When do we start?”

“I am here to escort you to the station,” Dumbledore replied with a bland smile. “I hope Verna doesn’t mind losing you for the afternoon – and the next few days.”

“Seriously? We’re going right now?” Marina said, dumbfounded.

“Indeed. If you head back to the Leakey Cauldron to pack, I will explain the situation to Verna,” Dumbledore said, lacing his fingers behind his back pleasantly.

Marina stared.

“I trust you still have the phoenix feather I gave you?” he asked.

She nodded silently.

“Make sure you pack it,” said Dumbledore, nodding at her.

Marina picked up her new book without another word and gave Dina’s head a final scratch as she passed on her way to the door. As she wove through the bustling street towards Diagon Alley, the cold winter air stung her face as much as the conversation had. Dumbledore’s habit of putting her on a shelf until he needed her again was really getting to her.

After throwing her meagre collection of things into her bag and asking Tom the innkeeper if he could keep an eye on her plants, she approached Dumbledore who was waiting by the door to Muggle London with a patient expression.

“No time to waste,” he said as she drew near, ignoring her blank expression as he pushed through the door.

They stepped onto the snowy Muggle street and hastened off in the direction of the station. Marina had spent next to no time exploring the Muggle side of London, much more occupied with spending her free time in Flourish and Blotts, Slug and Jiggers, and Obscurus Books. She followed Dumbledore closely, allowing him to confidently weave his way through the staring Muggles.

“Sir, don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re going to try to dress like a Muggle, perhaps a different colour –”

“I do not mind standing out, Marina,” Dumbledore said cheerfully, “as long as it’s not for being a wizard.”

“Fair enough,” Marina mumbled as she hurried after him.

The cold air chased them all the way to the train station where she soon spotted a familiar trio of faces. To Marina’s surprise, Riddle was dressed in plain – though slightly faded – Muggle clothes, finally having replaced his old Slytherin garb.

“Marina,” Remus smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” she said warmly. “It’s been too long,” she added a little pointedly – but Dumbledore made no reaction.

“We don’t have long,” Moody said gruffly, not giving her a greeting. “Train’s about to leave.” He pointed to a Muggle train on the platform next to them whose doors were still open but had no passengers approaching. Clearly everyone had already taken their seats.

Marina tried to catch Riddle’s eye, but he was looking towards the train with a composed expression and didn’t seem to notice her.

“Let’s go,” Remus said, turning to Dumbledore. “We will be in contact when we can.”

“Good luck,” said Dumbledore gravely.

As the four of them made towards the train, Dumbledore called out to her – “Marina, a word please.”

Marina reluctantly held back as the others boarded the train, catching Riddle giving them a look over his shoulder in her peripheral vision.

“Again, I must ask that you put yourself in harm’s way, Marina,” Dumbledore said softly.

“That was the plan, right?” she said, unimpressed.

“I know that you disagree with much of how I conduct myself –”

“I disagree with how you treat the people around you,” Marina clarified, angrily. “Like leaving me alone in an unfamiliar world with no contact for months, and treating Riddle no differently now to when he first came out of the diary –”

“The diary is what I wish to address,” Dumbledore interrupted, making no effort to respond to her criticisms. He withdrew the small, faded book from his inner suit pocket and handed it to her. “Should you need it, contact with this will still force Tom inside.”

Marina’s surprise momentarily eclipsed her annoyance. “What? Still?”

“I admit, I myself was surprised as well,” Dumbledore nodded as she took the diary and stowed it away in her bag. “I too had assumed that once Tom had taken on another part of his soul, the link with this diary would be broken. However, this has not been the case.”

Marina’s mind raced, puzzling over it. “Maybe he needs to talk to Myrtle,” she breathed, deep in thought. “That’s what ties him to the diary – if he repents for that, maybe the link will be broken.”

“I thought the same,” Dumbledore nodded.

Marina looked up sharply as an announcement echoed over the loudspeakers that her train was soon to depart.

“Why didn’t you get Riddle to try it? You’ve had weeks –”

Marina realised the reason before the question was out of her mouth. Whilst Riddle was tied to the diary, whoever possessed it controlled him. Dumbledore didn’t want to lose his leverage.

“Sir, surely he’s proven himself to be worthy of a _bit_ more trust than _that_ ,” she said heatedly.

“All Tom has proven is that he is unwilling to actively impede our plan,” Dumbledore said evenly.

Marina rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to retaliate, but Dumbledore held a hand up to silence her.

“I understand your frustration,” Dumbledore said, meeting her gaze calmly. “You feel that I am compromising the success of this plan by proceeding too cautiously.”

“Yeah,” she said brusquely. “That’s because you are.”

Dumbledore’s expression hardened a bit. “You seem to forget that the last time Tom possessed full autonomy, he used it to release a terrible monster upon the muggle-born students of Hogwarts, killing one of them and resulting in the destruction of his own soul.”

An alarm sounded as the doors to the train started to close.

“I better go,” Marina said coldly, turning from him without another word. He didn’t try to stop her.

Marina boarded the train with a pit forming in her stomach. As she approached where the others were sitting, Marina felt Riddle watching her but struggled to meet his gaze. Dumbledore’s words were hanging heavy on her, addling her thoughts. She started wondering how likely it was that Riddle was playing them, that he hadn’t really changed at all, that the late night conversations in the ward was an act, that he was the same now as he had been when he had forced half of his soul into the very diary that lay in the depths of her bag –

“Marina?” Riddle’s voice broke through her thoughts, suddenly standing in front of her. He was looking at her expectantly, and Marina realised he must have asked her a question.

“Sorry?” she stammered.

“Your bag,” he said gesturing to it. “Would you like me to put it on the rack?”

“Oh – thanks,” she said blandly, pulling out her new book before handing it to him.

He placed it above them with ease and sat back down, giving her a curious look. Marina took the empty seat next to him and looked out the window at the disappearing station as their train picked up speed.

“What are you reading?” Riddle asked, peering down at the book in her lap.

“Er – a book about Parseltongue,” she said, feeling weirdly awkward as she showed him the cover.

“Can I see?” he said immediately, sounding curious.

She handed it to him, noticing that Moody and Remus were watching Riddle closely as he flicked through the first few pages attentively.

“Could I read this?” Riddle said, oblivious to their scrutiny.

“Sure,” Marina shrugged. “Oh – you’ll like this, look –” Marina pulled the book from his hands and flicked to the centrefold where a double page portrait of a greying man with a prominent nose. He was wearing robes with billowing sleeves and a voluminous velvet hat in which perched a long feather. Underneath his portrait was the name _Phillipus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim_ in elaborate script, beneath which in much larger text was the name _Paracelsus_ in letters that flowed like they were in a slight breeze.

“This is the dude who discovered Parseltongue!” Marina said, showing Riddle the portrait.

“Paracelsus, I’m familiar,” Riddle said, giving her a raised eyebrow.

“No, like he can talk to you in Parseltongue,” Marina prompted, pushing the book towards him.

Riddle glanced at Moody and Remus. “I’m not sure –”

Paracelsus started speaking loudly from the pages, not in Parseltongue but in old-fashioned French and sounding very disgruntled.

“Oh, hold on –” Marina turned the book towards herself. “ _Paracelse, c’est moi encore. Ce garçon la, il peut parler le Forchelang aussi!_ ”

“ _Ah, d’accord_ ” Paracelsus said with an appeased smile. Marina turned the book back to Riddle as the man emitted a low hissing sound that made Riddle sit straight up in recognition.

“He says you speak terrible French,” Riddle said with an amused look.

Marina laughed. “To him, I bet I do. He’s from the 16th century – it took a week before we could even understand each other.”

Another hiss came from the pages. Whatever Paracelsus said, Riddle didn’t translate – but he did give another smirk that made Marina guess that mocking her French was still the topic of conversation.

“He’s taught me how to say some stuff in Parseltongue, too,” Marina said nonchalantly.

All three of her companions looked around at her in surprise.

“Why would you want to learn that?” Moody said roughly, a deep look of disapproval in his eyes.

“Is that even possible? I thought you had to be born a Parselmouth to understand it,” Remus frowned.

“Yeah, that helps,” Marina nodded tiredly. “It’s really difficult to tell any of it apart, but Paracelsus wants me to keep trying. He wasn’t so happy when I told him that Parseltongue has a bit of a reputation these days. So far he’s taught me like, snake basics – express that you’re hungry, and express that you’re scared.”

“Go on,” Riddle said, a glint in his eye.

Marina shook her head, fervently. “There’s no way I’m demonstrating.”

“You just spoke French in front of us, what’s the difference?” Riddle pressed, smirking.

“You don’t speak French, you don’t know when I make mistakes,” Marina said, giving Paracelsus a quick wave before closing the book firmly, greatly regretting bringing the whole thing up.

“I’d stop that hobby now, girl,” Moody said darkly. “Not too many folks look kindly on those who speak to snakes, no offense,” he said, casting Riddle a side eye.

Marina shrugged, but Remus didn’t look happy either.

“There are other reasons you should avoid it,” he said seriously.

“Like what? No one’s going to think I’m practicing dark magic, are they?” Marina rolled her eyes.

“Marina, I don’t think you should give Dumbledore any more reasons to suspect that Riddle has too much influence over you. Learning a secret language that only he can speak may give that impression,” Remus continued, a bit coolly.

“Dumbledore thinks Riddle has too much influence over me?” Marina repeated, amused.

“I would say it’s more the other way around,” Riddle muttered, picking up _Parsing Parseltongue_ from Marina’s lap and cracking open the first chapter.

“He doesn’t seem to think so,” Remus said, looking at her gravely.

“For good reason,” Moody said. “Keeping what happened during your time travel fiasco has not done either of you well in his books.”

Marina greatly wished she could say that she didn’t care where she stood in Dumbledore’s books, but unfortunately it wasn’t true. Dumbledore’s influence over the plan and her life in general was unparalleled. For the most part – though she didn’t like it – she depended on him.

“I’ll talk to Dumbledore,” Riddle said quietly to the page he was reading. “When we get back.”

Moody and Remus shared a look.

“That would help,” Remus said slowly.

Riddle only nodded, not looking up from the book. Marina turned her attention to the buildings that were still rocketing past outside the window, growing more and more sparse as they moved away from the city. If Riddle was faking it all, he was doing a bloody good job.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“Tell me the itinerary again?” Marina yawned as she punched her bag into a more comfortable position where she lay stretched out on the seat.

“So we took the train to Dover,” Riddle said, squinting at the paper in his hands. “The ferry to Calais, and the train to Paris –”

“God that hotel was awful,” Marina said, grimacing at the memory of the crowded hovel they’d camped out in for the night in a wizarding alleyway off the centre of Paris.

“Then there was the train to Venice –” Riddle continued, ignoring her as he studied the paper.

“I didn’t even know train rides could _be_ sixteen hours…” Marina muttered.

“And now we’re going to Bari, in the south of Italy. When we get there, we take another ferry to” – Riddle turned the paper over – “Durres.”

“And then we’re there?”

“Almost,” Riddle said, grimacing himself. “Then we’re in Albania, but we’ll still have a four-hour bus ride to get us to the right part.”

Marina groaned. “I can’t believe Dumbledore’s making us do this the Muggle way,” she said bitterly.

“Are you accepting that magical travel is superior?” Riddle said, stowing the itinerary away in his pocket.

“Yes,” she said grumpily, “You have that over the Muggle world for sure.”

“You’re finally speaking some sense,” Riddle smirked, leaning against the window.

They were speeding past the Italian countryside as they travelled further and further south. Moody and Remus sat in the seats opposite them across the aisle, the former somehow asleep whilst sitting perfectly upright with his arms folded, the latter reading a Muggle newspaper that had been left on the seat.

Marina looked over at Riddle. “You haven’t told me what you’ve been up to the last two months,” she said curiously.

“I’ve been staying with Moody,” Riddle said, glancing at the sleeping Moody before answering. “His house is a death trap,” he said conspiratorially.

“I don’t doubt it,” Marina smirked.

“McGonagall gave me my fifth-year curriculum, though,” he continued, looking back out the window. “She says I might be allowed to sit the exams next year if Dumbledore agrees to have me take them in his office.”

“Did you talk much with him?”

Riddle’s expression hardened. “Not really,” he said, his voice a little cooler. “Apart from last week.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. What was that about?” Marina asked, sitting up.

Riddle looked nonchalant. “We were just planning this trip,” he said, “and going to the Room of Requirement to get the diadem.”

He had gone weirdly nondescript, like he was trying too hard to convey the normalcy of it.

“What’s up?” Marina asked, cocking her head.

Riddle hesitated. “I didn’t know that others knew about the Room of Requirement,” he said slowly.

Marina nodded, remembering something like that from the books. That was why Voldemort had hidden the diadem there, because he’d though he knew the secrets of Hogwarts better than anyone else.

“I didn’t know that you could learn Parseltongue, either,” Riddle continued, softly.

There was an edge in his voice that Marina wasn’t sure about.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, peering at him.

“What do you mean?” he replied, casually.

“Knowing about the Room, speaking Parseltongue, those are things that set you apart from others,” Marina said, leaning forward. “I happen to know that you value things that set you apart. You seem to be implying that these things are losing their capability to do so.”

He levelled her with a piercing look. “You happen to know that, do you?” he asked in an icy voice.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get weird,” she said dismissively. “I’m not trying to psychoanalyse you, I’m trying to check if you’re okay.”

He didn’t reply, he just kept scrutinising at her.

Marina sat back with a huff. “Whatever,” she muttered.

“Do you not think it is important?” Riddle said quietly. “To value standing out?”

Marina considered him. “Yes,” she conceded, slowly. “But for the right reasons.”

“And what are the right reasons?” he said, eyes narrowing.

“Well, things like ‘being the only one to know about a room,’ and ‘speaking a specific language’ are shitty reasons,” she began, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere. “Anyone can find a room, and people can clearly learn the language, so if you tie your self-worth to things like that, it’s easy to destroy it.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Riddle said, expression unchanged.

“Good things to value that make you stand out,” Marina said thoughtfully, “are things that don’t matter if others share them too. Like – someone who’s always on time. Someone with a talent to always get the perfect present. Someone who can draw with flawless perspective, or is always polite to service workers, or impeccably makes their bed every morning, or can do complicated math in their head without having to count on their fingers like me –”

“Those things are inconsequential,” Riddle said, quite haughtily.

“Sure, but no one’s identity comes crashing down if they find out someone else also makes their bed every morning,” Marina said pointedly.

He glared at her. “My identity is not crashing down.”

“If you say so,” she held up her hands. “But I’m just trying to say that completely externalising how you define yourself is a dangerous game.”

“And how should I define myself?” Riddle asked. His tone was soft again, but without the edge.

She smiled. “I don’t think anyone can answer that except you.”

“You just told me that the way I define myself is wrong,” he accused.

“I said it was dangerous,” Marina corrected.

“You’re not making any sense,” Riddle muttered, looking out the window again.

Marina flung her arm across her face to hide her growing smile. Struggling with how to find identity was just about the most normal teenage thing she’d ever seen Riddle do.

Dumbledore’s words on the platform came back to her like a sudden rain, drenching her thoughts and making her smile dissolve. _‘…killing one of them and resulting in the destruction of his own soul…’_

Riddle wasn’t a normal teenager. He had already done things, horrible things that set him apart more than anything else ever could. It was so hard to remember, sometimes, that for him those things were a recent past, that in his mind only mere months ago was he opening the Chamber, killing Myrtle, making his first Horcrux.

She thought about what Remus had said, about Riddle having too much influence over her. She had found it laughable at the time, but she’d just had yet another conversation with Riddle during which she’d totally forgotten about the crimes he’d committed, the pain he’d inflicted.

Marina felt a horrible feeling creeping in on her, worming its way up from the pit in her stomach into her heart and settling there coldly.

“Dumbledore said something about me, didn’t he,” Riddle said quietly.

She jolted, coming back to reality at his sudden voice. “What do you mean?” she asked, managing to keep the quiver from her voice.

“On the platform, he said something to you. You’ve been acting differently.”

Marina let her arm drop and looked over at him. His expression was perfectly composed but she could sense tension in him, nonetheless.

“I could be acting differently because I haven’t seen you in so long,” she pointed out.

Riddle shook his head. “Dumbledore doesn’t like that you believe in me,” Riddle said bluntly, ignoring the rustling newspaper as Remus looked over at this statement. “He said something to you to try to make you stop.”

“Dumbledore reminded me of your own actions, Riddle,” Marina said evenly. “Not even you can say that me drawing a judgement based on your actions is somehow Dumbledore’s fault.”

“You’re defending him now?” Riddle said coldly.

“Dumbledore is an obstacle, not an enemy,” Marina said firmly.

“What did he say?” said Riddle immediately, his tone harsh.

“He reminded me of what you did to Myrtle,” replied Marina, looking up at the ceiling. “Sometimes I forget the horrible things you’ve done.”

Riddle was silent, the noise of the train filling the air in lieu of conversation.

“I still believe in you, Riddle,” she said, watching the sunlight flicker on the ceiling above. “That hasn’t gone away. But… all this was necessary for a reason. My belief that you can change doesn’t equate to me liking who you used to be.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“And what about now?” said Riddle.

Marina looked over in surprise. “Do I like you now?” she asked, making sure she understood him.

He nodded, expression still blank.

“I like parts of you,” she said honestly. “Your past is not one of them.”

“I can’t do anything about that,” he said icily.

“No,” Marina agreed simply. “Looks like you’ll have to focus on the present.”

Silence fell between them again. Over the sounds of the train, Marina heard the tell-tale noises of Remus picking up the newspaper again.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.   
>  We're nearly at the next Horcrux!! I am excited to write this part... :)  
>  I'd just like to thank you again for your comments - they are so motivating and uplifting!! Thanks for your amazing support.   
>  °•. ✿ .•° 


	17. Muggles Versus Magic

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA STEPPED OFF** the bus and stretched her arms up to the sky, bending backwards to try to work the stiffness off her spine. She let out a primal groan as her vertebrae strained against the motion and pain erupted in her lower back.

“Explain to me again why a plane was off the table? How hard is it to fake a passport when you have magic wands?” she grumbled as Moody passed her, looking haggard.

“Not about the passports,” he barked. “Muggles these days, airports have more and more security. Can’t take a wand through one of those scanners without the whole thing lighting up like fireworks …”

Remus heaved their bags out of the luggage hold and placed them heavily on the bricked pavement. Marina limped over, working her stiff legs clumsily.

“Can’t you just memory wipe them?” Marina said desperately, leaning to one side as her leg cramped.

“Not easily, not with that many cameras,” scowled Moody, seizing his bag from the pile. “You Muggles get more and more paranoid.”

“Huh,” Marina said, shooting Riddle a look as he lifted his bag onto his shoulder beside her. “Are you saying that Muggle security measures are superior –”

“Don’t start,” Riddle said flatly.

She smirked and followed Remus and Moody off down the road away from the small gaggle of passengers swarming around the bus. It was a clear evening, the cold air giving everything a sharp edge and the stars twinkled in the ink black sheet of the sky above. Marina wasn’t sure where they were headed but she was too tired to care – they hadn’t eaten properly in nearly ten hours and hadn’t slept properly in three days. In silence they trekked down the quiet cobbled city street.

Finally, they came to a halt in front of a long expanse of yellowy stone brick wall that looked to form the side of a large hall. Moody looked around darkly before withdrawing his wand and placing his opposite hand flat on the wall. He muttered a muffled phrase in Albanian that Marina didn’t understand and then pushed hard on the wall – with ease, a rectangular door-shaped section of the brick swung backwards without hinge or support. Moody immediately stepped through and Remus quickly guided both Marina and Riddle through the hole to allow the strange door to seal shut behind them seamlessly.

Inside was a cacophony of light and sound. Marina stared around the bar, unable to fathom how she had neither seen nor heard any of the commotion from just outside on the street. Hordes of drunken witches and wizards littered the bar with flagons of foaming golden drinks. They sat on tables, stools, bookcases, and the bar itself, yelling and singing under the warm glow of three ginormous swaying chandeliers that hung from a high stucco ceiling that was stretched with dark wooden beams. The noise was inescapable, and it took Marina a second to realise that Remus was trying to talk to her. She leaned towards him, trying to focus on his voice as a group nearby erupted into a raucous chorus of some drinking ballad.

“Alastor’s getting the room keys!” Remus bellowed into her ear, still barely audible. “We’re staying here tonight!”

He turned towards Riddle, evidently to tell him the same thing as Marina looked back around the bar in amusement. She wasn’t sure they’d get much sleep, but it was certainly the liveliest leg of their journey so far. As she surveyed the crowd, a particular individual stood out in the worst way possible – an angry, roughened man with a broad chest and greasy clothes was making his way towards them with a determined, unpleasant look twisting his heavily moustached mouth. Behind him followed Moody with an equally ugly expression. Marina patted at Remus’ arm, trying to catch his attention as the man grew closer. Remus turned and immediately took a step in front of Marina, shooting a questioning look at Moody whose scowl deepened in response.

The greasy man came to a halt in front of them and Marina noticed a heavy ring of brass keys hanging from his belt next to a stained, mottled cloth. Her stomach sank – if this man owned the place, she wasn’t sure that they were about to receive the warmest reception.

The man barked a phrase in Albanian, his booming voice was so loud that it cut through the crowd with ease. Moody leaned forward, muttering something in the man’s ear, who gave them a sour look before he tried again.

“No Muggle,” he shouted in a thick Albanian accent, pointing at Marina. He was suddenly much easier to hear - Marina realised it was not because of his loud voice but because the surrounding cacophony of the bar was dissolving. Those nearest to them had fell silent and were watching the interaction with interest. The stillness spread through the bar like a fire and sooner than Marina thought even possible, the whole crowd was quiet, watching them intently as only the loud squeaking of the still swinging chandeliers filled the room.

“We arranged four beds,” Remus said diplomatically. “We have money for –”

“No Muggle,” the man said again, giving Marina a filthy look.

One of the bystanders spat at her feet and Marina jumped back, aghast. It felt like every set of eyes in the room were on her, cold eyes, hateful eyes, dispassionate eyes, eyes that seemed upset by what they saw but remained passive, nonetheless. Her skin crawled and her face felt hot.

Remus pulled out a coin purse and counted out a ridiculous number of Galleons which he held out to the man.

“Here, take extra. Just let us stay,” he said firmly.

The man took the money immediately and stored it in one of the pouches hanging off his broad leather belt.

“You can stay,” he said brusquely, “but no promises.”

“No promises on what?” Moody asked suspiciously.

The man gave an ugly smile and began making his way back towards the bar. Slowly, noise returned to the crowd, but it was all hushed mutterings and dark tones that made Marina feel like evaporating.

“Let’s get to our rooms,” she said to Remus quietly, trying to put on a brave face. “I don’t think I should stay out here.”

Before Remus could reply, Moody shook his head. “We need to get some food,” he said gruffly, stepping forward. “All of us. I’ll sort something, wait here.” He jerked a finger towards a relatively empty table and lumbered off after the barman.

Marina felt disappointment bloom in her stomach – she’d been hoping for a hasty retreat from the hostility. Instead, she quietly followed the grim-faced Remus to the table and took the seat opposite him, casting a terse look at their neighbours further down the table who were shooting her daggers.

As Riddle sat down across from her, Marina realised that he looked curiously unaffected by the tension in the room, like he’d not even noticed it. Marina tried to push down the feeling of hurt at his lack of care.

“No Muggle,” one of the women at the table sneered at them.

Marina ignored them, staring hard at her hands on the table in front of her. Remus reached out and put a hand on hers, giving her an encouraging look when she caught his eye.

She gave a weak smile, trying to ignore the mutterings going on at the other end of the bar table.

Not quickly enough, Moody reappeared and sank into the seat next to Marina, distractedly rubbing at his wooden leg. “Food’ll be here soon,” he said, casting a dark look at their disgruntled neighbours.

No sooner had he done so did a CRACK resonated around them as three house-elves appeared holding heavy platters of rich, delicious food that wafted through the air and made Marina’s stomach give a loud rumble.

“This is ridiculous,” Remus said as the house-elves placed a plate in front of each of the wizards and leaving a conspicuous gap on the table in front of Marina. “You paid for four meals?”

“Aye,” Moody said darkly. “I don’t think money’s the problem.”

“Here,” Remus said, sliding the plate in front of him to the middle of the table. “We can share.”

“Thanks,” Marina smiled. More than anything, she felt embarrassed that they had to deal with the attention she was getting because of her presence, wishing that the floor would swallow her so that they could enjoy their meal in peace.

Something sharp stung her cheek and she felt her face fling to the side – someone had sent a hex at her. Moody let out a great roar as their neighbours erupted into laughter, seeing Marina’s cheek turn bright red and a welt beginning to form. She pressed her hand to it hard as both Remus and Moody stood, drawing their wands ferociously. Riddle had gone still, staring at Marina as her affected eye began to weep instinctively.

“Who was it?” thundered Moody, casting a striking image with his outstretched wand.

The other occupants only smirked. Moody looked like he was about to act right as the barman reappeared, looking just as furious as before. He began shouting in Albanian, failing to distinguish exactly who he was yelling at.

A flicker of motion caught Marina’s eye and she turned from the commotion to see a weedy, blond haired wizard pointing his wand right at her, clearly taking advantage of Remus and Moody’s turned backs. Marina pushed herself backwards off her chair as another hex whizzed past her, near grazing her face. She closed the short distance between her and wizard, seizing his wand with both hands, bent her leg up to her hip before shooting it out into his ribs as hard as she could, slamming the knife edge of her foot into his body. As the force of the kick shoved the man back hard, her firm grasp on his wand wrenched it from his hand. She held the wand and stared down at the shocked man’s face, breathing heavily as adrenaline coursed through her.

Marina turned back to their table to find all its occupants staring at her. A deadly silence hung like a fog. She walked forward awkwardly, placed the wand on the table, and turned to Moody.

“I think I’ll just go to my room,” she said, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone else.

Moody placed a hand on her shoulder and flicked his wand at their bags and their food which sprung up and floated obediently behind him. He forcefully guided her through the silent crowd as Remus and Riddle stood quickly and followed. They made their way into a long, dimly lit hall and hurried along it, turning into a door near the end to find a small lounge with bedrooms leading off it.

The bags crashed into a neat pile in the corner and the plates onto the low table in the middle of the room as Moody slammed the door and rounded on her.

“What was that?” he snarled.

Marina fiddled nervously with her hands. “He was going to curse me, so I –”

“This isn’t good,” Remus interrupted. He had started pacing, running his fingers through his grey tinged hairs. The stressed look on his face made Marina feel even more guilty. “We may have to find somewhere else to stay.”

“I’ll ward the door,” Moody said dismissively, turning to it with his wand drawn. “Be a miracle if these Flobberworms get through my wards…”

Marina fell into one of the armchairs, letting her head sink into her palms.

Remus approached her, crouching as he drew his wand. “Let me see your face,” he said, peering at the hex sting. “That looks nasty… here.” He pointed his wand at the wound and Marina felt a cool sensation spread across her cheek. It felt very good.

“How did you do that?” said a quiet voice.

She looked around to see Riddle assessing her with an intense stare. “Sorry?”

“You knew what to do, how to move,” said Riddle, sitting on the couch opposite her slowly. “How did you know what to do? To… _disarm_ him?” he said it with distaste, like he disapproved.

“Oh,” she said blankly. “I – well, you know those silly Muggle exercises? The stretches?”

He nodded, not breaking eye contact.

“Well, I don’t do them for nothing,” Marina said, feeling embarrassed. Remus had stood and was listening to her answer as well, and the attention made her shift uncomfortably. “I’ve been doing martial arts for nearly twenty years now.”

“Martial arts,” Riddle repeated, not sounding impressed.

“Yeah,” she said, sheepishly. “Good for self-defense, you know. My parents started when I was a kid and brought me along when I was five. I never stopped going.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Perhaps we should be careful to not underestimate you, Marina,” Remus said as he sat next to Riddle. His face was still stressed, but there was a curl to his lips like he couldn’t help but find amusement in the situation.

“Why didn’t you do this when you were attacked in Hogsmeade?” Riddle demanded, not seeming as impressed.

“It took me by surprise back then,” Marina admitted, “but it also gave me an idea of what to look for. Like, what it looks like when someone was about to cast a spell. It’s very similar to when someone’s coming at you with a knife –”

“Has someone come at you with a knife before?” Remus said immediately, looking alarmed.

“No!” Marina held up her hands. “No, like, when we practice, when we’re being taught we pretend –”

Riddle looked disgusted. “Muggles learn how to brawl for fun,” he scoffed.

Marina felt annoyance shoot through her. “You know what, Riddle, maybe you shouldn’t judge it so hastily. I’d like to see what you would have done if he’d tried to curse you. Without a wand you can’t do jack shit.”

Riddle’s eyes flashed. “If I had a wand, he wouldn’t have even been able to _draw_ –”

“But you don’t,” Marina said, standing angrily. “You don’t have a wand, and if you wizards don’t have a wand, you’re bloody useless. That’s the difference between Muggles and wizards isn’t it? Muggles try to solve problems themselves, whereas you just paste magic over everything and hope to high hell that you always have your little wooden sticks with you –”

Riddle leapt to his feet too, anger seething in his face as he stepped towards her. “A Muggle doesn’t have _half_ the power of a wizard, you could only _dream_ –”

“Sure,” Marina nodded aggressively, “magic is all powerful and all-encompassing and nothing Muggles can ever do will overcome it. That’s why you all still write with bird feathers rather than a ball point pen, right?”

“Marina,” Remus said quietly, “perhaps we should all get some sleep.”

But Riddle evidently disagreed. “Muggle technology will never amount to what magic can accomplish,” he hissed.

“No offense, Riddle, but you were born in like 1920,” Marina scoffed. “Muggle technology has changed quite a bit since then, and you know what? I bet the magical world is the exact fucking same. The Muggle world changes every goddamn decade more than the magical world does in centuries –”

“How is change proof of superiority?” Riddle spat derisively.

“It’s not!” Marina cried. “It’s proof of _growth_! Something the magical world appears to have abandoned because it’s so up its own ass about having magic that you never think to do anything differently! Muggles don’t have that luxury! We have to figure out how make things better ourselves! Don’t see the magical world coming up with the internet, do you? You all still send letters with owls because a simple bloody text message is too _primitive_ apparently –”

“Enough!” bellowed Moody. “Both of you, go to bed! Stop this incessant bickering, you sound like children!”

Marina seized her bag and stormed through one of the bedroom doors, shutting it behind her with her foot as she threw the bag on the bed and paced the room, trying to let go of her pent-up energy. She shouldn’t have yelled at Riddle, she knew that, but it was so bloody hard to get through his thick fucking skull –

“Marina?” Remus’ voice came as he knocked lightly on the door.

She froze. “Yeah?” she called tensely.

“We’re leaving early tomorrow morning, make sure you’re ready,” he said. She heard him walking from the door without waiting for an answer.

Marina groaned, falling onto the bed. She could feel his disappointment at her outburst through the door.

Tomorrow was going to be a disaster.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

They made their way out of the inn before the sun had risen, the bar a thankfully deserted. Marina stepped over toppled chairs and fallen tankards with her silent stoic companions. As they exited onto the cold winter morning street, Moody and Riddle took the lead, walking through the streets in quiet conversation that Marina couldn’t discern.

She didn’t want to think of herself as moping, but that was probably what she was doing. The anger she’d felt had long since vanished leaving her feeling embarrassed and regretful at her and Riddle’s fight. Perhaps trash talking the magical world in front of three wizards, with one of whom she was about to take a life-threatening journey into the past and who is explicitly required to trust her, wasn’t her greatest idea to date.

After a long stretch of tense, silent walking, Marina turned to Remus. “Hey,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry about last night. I was stressed and emotional, and I shouldn’t have let it come out like that, it was really irresponsible. I’m sorry.”

Remus gave her a long look and sighed. “You’re only human, Marina,” he said, looking back at their pair of leaders. “Just as Riddle is only human.”

She nodded, not feeling much better. “Still though,” she muttered. “I’m not a troubled teenager. I should have acted better.”

“Regardless,” Remus said tightly, not disagreeing with her, “what’s done is done. We have new battles to tackle this morning.”

Marina grit her teeth as they kept walking, her bag weighing heavy on her shoulder. As they left the edge of town and started winding their way through more and more fields, she wondered exactly where Riddle was leading them.

“Where are we going?” she asked tiredly as the sun began to stain the sky on the horizon.

“Dumbledore said that when he touched the diadem, Riddle saw a farmhouse,” Remus said, puffing slightly. “By the forest edge.”

“Why would Voldemort go to a farmhouse to kill someone?” she wondered out loud.

“Because they had the diadem,” Riddle said sharply from in front of them. It was the first he’d spoken to Marina all day and she felt surprise shoot through her. “The man was a lumberjack, he found the diadem in the forest,” Riddle continued, looking dead ahead. “He brought it home for his daughter.”

“Did she wear it?” Marina asked, gobsmacked.

“I don’t know,” said Riddle, archly. “I could only feel where… it happened.”

He fell silent and Marina didn’t push for any more than that – the fact that he was speaking to her at all felt like a small miracle in itself.

The sun was full in the sky by the time they arrived where they needed to be, shining down on them through a misty landscape of expansive farmland and small dotted wooden houses. A tall, dark forest loomed to their left. Nearby, pressed right against the forest edge was a tiny farmhouse of simple stone bricks and ceramic tile roof.

“Is that it?” she whispered.

Riddle nodded.

At this, Moody pulled the familiar time-turner from his robes and turned to them gravely. “Considering what happened last time,” he began in a gravelly, serious tone, “we will be waiting here to take care of you when you get back. Don’t waste time,” he said forcefully, “the longer you’re back there, the worse the effects.”

Riddle and Marina nodded. Marina wondered if Riddle felt as much trepidation as she did. With everything that had been happening, she’d barely had time to think about how they were about to go through this all over again.

“Marina,” Remus said, touching her shoulder lightly. “The feather?” He spoke quietly, right into her ear.

She only nodded, feeling the feather in her pocket in an attempt to reassure herself.

“Alright,” said Moody, looping the chain over both their necks.

Marina looked away uncomfortably and saw Riddle do the same.

“For Merlin’s sake, get over it and get the job done,” Moody growled. “It was a stupid thing to fight over, anyway.”

“Just focus on what’s important,” Remus said hastily, giving Riddle’s arm an encouraging squeeze. “You will both be fine.”

Remus brought from his bag a beautiful, silver-wrought crown that glittered in the morning sun. Marina took it immediately, turning it over and watching it glimmer. Riddle scoffed loudly at her magpie-like response and she shot him a look before they both seemed to remember that they were mad at each other and turned away abruptly. She stowed the diadem in her bag carefully, pillowing it within her spare set of clothes to stop it from getting jolted.

Marina took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking up at Riddle. “How many turns?” she asked in an even tone.

He hesitated for only a second, assessing her. “Thirty-five,” he said in an equally even voice.

In her peripheral vision, Marina saw Moody shake his head disparagingly.

She grasped the time-turner's dial.

“Ready?” she asked, unsure if she was asking Riddle or herself.

Riddle nodded. Marina turned the dial.

Remus’ concerned face and Moody’s grizzled one vanished immediately, the world exploding into angry orange grey clouds. Counting firmly, Marina tried to concentrate on the delicate golden contraption. So much sooner than last time did the dizziness strike her, the grey tunneling of her vision, the sickness. By the twentieth turn, Riddle was grasping both her arms to hold her upright and she could only vaguely feel his hands. Soon the only thing she could see was the little dial in front of her, walled in on all sides by the grey nothingness.

With the last turn she let go of the time-turner with relief – but instead of settling, the world around them remained wild and turbulent. Confusion washed over her as she leaned heavily on Riddle, barely able to stand upright before the cold spray of rain hit her and Marina understood.

They had arrived in the middle of the night, and all around them raged a monstrous storm. In the black sky above, lightening illuminated rolling, roiling clouds and thick rain plummeted down to meet them in icy sheets. Wind tore at them as they stood there attempting to get their bearings.

“The house!” Riddle yelled, his hair already plastered to his face. “We have to get to the house!”

Marina nodded, feeling nausea sweep through her as she tried to take a step. She fell heavily and Riddle bent with her to stop the motion from snapping the time-turner’s chain. He pulled it off his neck and helped her upright, letting her lean on him heavily as they turned towards the house. It was the only thing they could see clearly, its bright illuminated windows their beacon as they stumbled across the unfamiliar terrain.

Twice they fell, once in a muddy ditch that had appeared out of nowhere, and once when the wind grew so strong that it blew them off balance. Covered in mud, drenched to the bone, and teeth clattering against the cold, they finally arrived at the house.

Riddle knocked hard as Marina near collapsed against the door frame, thankful to have something solid to lean against. The door sprung open to reveal an older woman with long greying hair and a round, tanned face, deeply creased and heavily concerned. She looked at them agape before seizing them both and pulling them inside, shutting the door against the howling wind as soon as they were over the threshold.

She rounded on them, chattering in Albanian and rushing around the room as Marina felt her balance starting to give. Something didn’t feel right – whether it was from the time-travel, or the gut-wrenching cold, or the buffeting from the storm, Marina’s vision was swimming and her thoughts couldn’t catch on anything concrete. There was a dizzying moment where she thought she’d collapse and then suddenly the woman was back, grasping her arms and leading her firmly towards a couch. Marina sat heavily as the woman began pulling her soaked sweater off her head and jerked her mud-clogged shoes and sopping socks from her feet. Before she knew it, the woman was wrapping her in thick blankets, and pulling woollen socks onto her feet that had turned bone-white in the cold.

Distantly, Marina recognised a familiar sound – a fire crackling. She looked up blearily to see a young boy stoking a rustic hearth with fat logs, watched the fire lap at them hungrily and crackle with content. As the fogginess cleared, Marina squinted at her surroundings for the first time.

They were in a small, warm, cosy room lit by the large fire with windows tightly shuttered against the storm. Across from her she could see Riddle on another faded couch with a blanket around his shoulders, wet hair dripping down his face, inching closer to the fire. The small boy stoking it kept looking up at him in fascination, prodding the logs with a long iron poker.

The older woman was still chattering away, apparently unaware that neither of them could understand them. Marina’s attention had been seized, however, by something hanging on the wall beside them, something that at that very moment she also had stowed in her bag. She carefully caught Riddle's eye and nodded slowly behind him as subtly as she could.

He inched his head to the side, eyes going wide as he saw what she’d noticed. On a simple wooden peg, glimmering golden in the bright firelight, Ravenclaw’s diadem hung on the wall of the little farmhouse.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Hello! Thanks again for your support, it's very appreciated!! I hope you are all keeping safe in these turbulent times.   
>  °•. ✿ .•° 


	18. The Plunge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: blood, seizure._  
>  Listen, in this chapter I reference biscuits. For the benefit of my American readers I am talking about British style biscuits, I think you guys call them crackers??? Like, something you'd dunk in a cup of tea. This has been a PSA.  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **A DOOR OPPOSITE** the entrance opened slowly and a broad-shouldered man stepped through with exaggerated carefulness like he was trying to make as little noise as possible. Marina caught a glimpse of the small, dark room and a child in a tiny bed before he painstakingly closed the door behind him, wincing when the latch clicked.

He turned to the older woman and murmured something in Albanian. He shot the strangers in his living room a curious look, and the woman grabbed his arm and started muttering to him. Marina – who was quickly coming to the realisation that no one spoke any English – started wondering how successful their trip was going to be. Even ignoring the lingering tension between her and Riddle, she didn’t see how he was supposed to talk to this man and empathise with him if neither of them could communicate with each other.

 _‘Unless,_ ’ her feverish mind thought wildly, _‘Riddle secretly speaks Albanian and has just been sitting on that this whole time. Or, plot twist, this man speaks Parseltongue_.’

Marina snorted loudly at the mental image of the two of them sitting there hissing at each other by the fire, drawing a judgemental look from Riddle that made her compose herself. The small boy still sat poking the fire absentmindedly, his attention fixed on Riddle as he stared at him with wide eyes. He didn't look much older than ten.

Finally, the man approached them, the woman close behind. He pointed at her and Riddle and then pointed at the door, shaking his head with a frown. The storm rattled outside and rain pummeled the windows even louder as if to demonstrate his point. He pointed at them again and then gestured at his house with a broad, tanned smile.

“Is he inviting us to stay?” Marina asked out loud.

“Yes, your observational skills are unparalleled,” Riddle said dryly.

The man watched them intently, and Marina realised he was waiting for a response. She gave him a warm smile and nodded, trying to convey her gratitude across the language barrier.

“Check if they speak French,” Riddle said suddenly.

Marina looked at him sceptically. “I don’t think –”

“Just try it,” Riddle interrupted hotly.

Marina sighed and turned to the Albanian couple. “ _Français_?” she asked.

They both gave her blank looks.

Marina looked back at Riddle with a physical manifestation of ‘I told you so’ on her face, which he ignored.

The man suddenly moved towards the middle of the room and produced a series of rustic mugs from a cupboard. The woman whom Marina assumed was his wife bustled off in the opposite direction towards the open kitchen where a heavy iron kettle sat hissing steam on the old stovetop. They arranged the mugs and the kettle on the table and excitedly produced an old-fashioned tin that they pried open to reveal a series of thick, sugar crusted biscuits. When the spread was complete, they waved Riddle and Marina over with broad smiles.

Marina stood and took a seat at the table, smiling back - they had already won her heart over. The woman poured her a steaming mug of dark, sweet-smelling tea and offered her the slightly battered but immaculately polished tin of biscuits. She took one gratefully and nodded her thanks – the biscuits were evidently the peak of indulgence.

Riddle was slower to join but took a seat next to Marina and received the same treatment. He looked strangely reserved, like he couldn’t figure out what the couple was doing.

“Relax,” Marina said to him, sipping the tea. It was delicious and tasted strongly like cloves. “They’re being hospitable.”

“You really are too trusting,” Riddle said, peering down at the cup of tea before him.

Marina ignored him, watching as the couple poured each other tea and conversed playfully. Even across the language barrier, their little laughs and creased faces showed a love for each other that transcended translation.

Chuckling at something his wife had said, the man placed down his mug and turned to Marina. “Nevin,” he said, placing a large hand on his chest.

“Shpatena,” smiled the woman, placing her hand on her chest to match her husband. She pointed at the small boy who still sat by the fire, attention still rapt by Riddle. “Paskal.”

Marina nodded, repeating the names in her head to avoid forgetting them. “Marina,” she said, pointing at herself, and then at Riddle. “Tom.”

They looked at her excitedly. “Marina?” Nevin repeated.

Marina was taken aback, nodding in confusion at their response. Nevin said something in another language, different enough that Marina could tell it wasn’t Albanian, but still not something she could understand.

“I think it’s Greek,” Riddle said beside her, watching closely. “Marina is a Greek name, isn’t it?”

“Oh,” Marina said, sorry to disappoint them as she looked back and gave a sheepish, exaggerated shrug to show that she still didn’t understand.

They both took it in great stride, smiling and chatting and waving their hands. Their countenance fiercely contrasted the howling storm outside which tore at the little house even whilst Nevin and Shpatena cheerily refilled their cups.

“Er –” Riddle said from beside her.

Marina turned to see little Paskal pressed up against Riddle’s chair, pulling at his sleeve and looking up at with the same wide eyes. Riddle looked up at her, bewildered.

“He must want to show you something,” Marina laughed.

“What do I do?” Riddle asked flatly.

“Go with him, obviously” she said, taking an amused sip of her tea. “Don’t be mean.”

If they hadn’t been in company, Marina could tell he would have scowled at her. Instead he stood with a composed expression and allowed the boy to lead him over to the far corner where Paskal knelt on the flagstone floor and carefully open a wooden chest. The boy withdrew what looked like a toy train and handed it to Riddle solemnly.

Riddle took it automatically and gave Marina a stranded look from across the room. She gestured encouragingly, deeply amused. Riddle slowly knelt as Paskal looked inside the chest again, this time producing a large wooden toy plane. Marina stifled her laughter at Riddle’s expression – rarely did she see him so obviously outside of his element.

When they were done with the tea, Marina helped Nevin and Shpatena clean up. As she plunged her hands into the sink’s warm soapy water to wash the cups, Marina tried to ignore the purple staining that was beginning to appear at the tips of her fingers.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina sat by the fire watching Riddle try to entertain Paskal’s enthusiastic antics as Nevin and Shpatena spoke in calm, content voices on the couch next to her, the storm still raging on outside. The evening was not going how she’d expected, but she was enjoying it nonetheless. The quiet, kind hospitality had wiped away the frantic turbulence of the past few days and she could see that it was getting to Riddle, too.

Paskal was chattering dramatically as he arranged the toys in some intense story narrative, handing them to Riddle only to snatch them away and move them around, engrossed in the world he had created. Riddle sat silently but tolerantly, watching the scene around him evolve with a patience Marina hadn’t seen in him before.

Riddle caught Marina watching him.

“Having fun?” Marina asked in amusement.

“I think the soldier is holding the train captive after it betrayed his former boss, the model car,” Riddle replied with impressive restraint.

“Oh shit, your evening is so much more interesting than mine,” Marina said in false jealousy, holding her hands out to the fire.

“Oh, wait a minute,” Riddle said as Paskal knocked the soldier over with a loud exclamation and lifted a tattered plush rabbit from behind the wooden chest. “The soldier has been undercut. The rabbit leads a rival gang, if I am to understand.”

“Baba?” said a small voice.

They all turned to see a tiny girl peeking out from the door from which Nevin had emerged earlier that evening. She was giving nervous, uncertain glances at Marina and Riddle.

“Sophika!” Nevin exclaimed. He started speaking in soft, reassuring tones as he waved the small girl over. She emerged from her room clutching a large, slightly patchy teddy bear that obscured most of her face. She made it to her father’s arms and he hugged her tightly, still speaking to her calmly. He pointed to Marina and she heard her name, hearing Tom’s a moment later. The girl nodded but didn’t lower the teddy bear. Shpatena reached over and smoothed the girl’s hair, murmuring to her warmly.

There was a crash, and Marina looked around sharply to see the little metal motorcycle toy that Riddle had been delegated lying in the middle of Paskal’s set up. The young boy gave a shout and picked up the motorcycle, checking it for dents as he looked at Riddle, betrayed.

“I’m sorry,” Riddle said, his face tight. “I –” he closed his eyes, leaning hard on his arm to support himself.

“Are you alright?” Marina said sharply, alarmed.

“I think – I think the Horcrux –” Riddle grimaced, unable to continue.

Marina’s thoughts raced. Why hadn’t he collapsed like last time? Her eyes darted to her bag where it sat next to the couch.

“I think you have to get closer to the diadem for it to work,” Marina said slowly, glancing back at Riddle.

He had managed to open his eyes, and he nodded with his lips pressed tightly together. “I think you’re right. But…” he looked down at Paskal who was staring in shock back at him.

Before he could say another word, Riddle keeled over and gave a jolt like he had been electrocuted. Paskal kicked backwards and shuffled away from him, looking aghast. The small boy began yammering in panic and scrambled over to his parents looking scared.

Marina sprung up and dashed to Riddle, placing a hand on his shoulder as she crouched beside his hunched form.

“What’s going on?” she asked desperately. “What should I do?”

“It’s too close,” Riddle gasped. “I can feel it – it’s trying to get to me – it hurts –”

Marina heard Shpatena give a shriek and looked around in panic. Marina’s bag was trembling on the floor like it contained a frenzied animal.

Thinking quickly, Marina dashed over to grab her bag and turned to face the family. “Sleep,” she said, desperately. “He just needs some sleep.”

They stared back in alarm and confusion.

Marina watched as Riddle gave another jolt and his face contorted in pain behind them. Frantically, she brought her hands up to one side of her face and closed her eyes in mime slumber. “Sleep,” she repeated desperately, looking at them.

Nevin stood, guided his daughter to Shpatena’s open arms, and stepped towards the door from which little Sophika had come. He gestured inside quickly as he gave Riddle a concerned look.

“Thank you,” Marina breathed, heaving her bag inside the room before turning to Riddle. She pulled one of his arms away from his body, wrapped it around her shoulders, and helped guide him towards the door. “Thank you,” she said again as she passed Nevin, trying to convey how she felt through the words she knew he didn’t understand. Nevin nodded, allowing her to pass with the struggling Riddle and closed the door softly behind them.

Marina let Riddle collapse on one of the two small beds in the room, turning to her bag to produce the diadem.

“Wait,” Riddle said quickly in a strained voice.

She turned, confused. His face was fearful.

“I don’t – I don’t know if I can –” his jaw clenched, and he stared at her bag with a hard look. He was wracked with another shock and blood beaded on his lip as he bit it in pain.

“Hey,” Marina said loudly, leaning forward and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this. I know you can.”

“What happened to thinking I’m useless?” he said with a weak attempt at a smirk as he breathed heavily against the pain. “You thought so little of me last night.”

Marina waved her hand. “This has nothing to do with that,” she exclaimed, bewildered that he was bringing it up. He winced as another wave of pain seemed to sweep through him.

“I thought – that you might not – want to come,” Riddle said between breaths.

“You thought because of _that_ , I’d pull out of coming with you?” Marina gaped.

He just looked at her, an arm wrapped across his body as he breathed hard through his nose. His lack of an answer was answer enough.

“Tom, no offense but that’s ridiculous. One stupid fight doesn’t mean I’m going to give up on you,” she said disbelievingly.

He remained silent. After a long moment, his eyes lowered to her bag.

“Okay,” he said, jaw tight. “I’m ready.”

Marina hesitated, before pulling out the time-turner from beneath her jumper and looped the chain over Riddle’s neck. She used her foot to pull her bag over and retrieved the glittering diadem from inside. She looked back at Riddle whose gaze was fixed on it, somewhere between fearful and determined.

“You can do this,” she repeated firmly.

He gave a stiff nod. His face was set in resolve, but his eyes searched her fearfully. Marina held up the diadem between them. Riddle raised his hand as if to take it, but his fingertips had not even brushed it when his eyes rolled back on his head and he fell to the side, pulling Marina with him. Marina seized her bag, threw the diadem inside, and slammed her hand into the side of the time-turner.

She held on to Riddle’s arm as tightly as she could as they spun through the wild time storm, the clouds raging around them and threatening to pull them from each other. Her throat hurt and she realised she was screaming, adrenaline-filled and instinctive at the sheer centripetal force tearing at her body. Just like last time, right as she thought her grasp might fail and she would be thrown into the storm, everything stopped, and they were in the same room illuminated with bright morning sunlight through empty windows. The air was cold and birds sang outside as blood spilled from Riddle’s mouth and nose and he began shaking violently on the floor before her.

“Remus!” Marina bellowed. “Moody!”

In the back of her mind she noticed the changes to the room – the lack of furniture, the cobwebbed corners, the pale, time bleached wooden walls in disarray. A lurch went through her as she remembered what had happened. Voldemort had killed them. Nevin, maybe Shpatena and the children too. Tears erupted from Marina’s eyes as she looked around the abandoned room, the door-less arch through which she could see an empty living room and a cold, dead fireplace.

As Remus and Moody Apparated before them with a crack, Marina’s sobs wracked her body as her eyes caught sight of the empty wooden peg on the wall through the door.

They were dead, and Voldemort had taken what he’d wanted.

She still gripped Riddle’s arm as she cried, as Moody seizing her shoulder and they Apparated away. She barely paid attention to the familiar scene of St Mungo’s, the healers that clustered around them, their tense voices and orderly shouts. She felt blood on her own face, saw it on her purpling hands, watched the discolouration spread like ink in water under her skin and up her fingers, further than it had ever gone before.

Could they have done something? Could they have warned them?

Marina’s throat was hurting again and distantly she could hear her own gut-wrenching cries – but they were dulled, muffled like she was underwater. A wand was pointed at her face and everything went black.

Her sleep was dreamless but haunting, and she awoke with hot tears on her cheeks. Riddle sat in the chair next to her bed, his face shadowed even in the brightly lit ward. Marina turned her face toward him and he looked up from the book that lay tiredly in his lap.

They locked eyes, and Marina knew that the exhaustion that she saw in his face was mirrored on her own. The thought of Nevin seemed to arise between them, of Shpatena and Paskal, of tiny little Sophika and her shabby teddy bear. Marina could see them in Riddle’s expression, and she knew that he could see them in hers.

Marina closed her eyes again, unable to stop the tears. Her heart felt hollow and bruised. There was the rustle of a page turning, but Riddle said nothing. He seemed to know that in that moment there was nothing to say, that there was only the crushing feeling of understanding.

Marina didn’t want to understand anymore. She wanted to break whatever thick wall held back her memories of home, let that old life wash over her and wipe away this strange, devastating world she’d been plunged into. She wanted someone to come and tell her it was all a bizarre dream, a story, a figment of her imagination. But still she lay there, unable to shake the memory of Shpatena’s smiling face as she offered her a tin of biscuits in the warmth of her home.

Sleep evaded her, leaving her to wallow in her own grief. As the hours passed, she heard the voices of Remus and Mrs Weasley, but she didn’t reply. Guilt festered in her chest. The knowledge that they had said nothing to the family, had not warned them, had done nothing but think of their own plan tugged at her incessantly.

“Marina,” Riddle said quietly.

She slowly looked over, eyes red and tired.

He only jerked his head at something to his side. She slowly lowered her gaze to see Dumbledore standing by the foot of her bed.

“I gather that this trip was particularly difficult for you,” Dumbledore said in a clear, sombre voice.

Marina stared at him for a cold moment and then looked back up at the ceiling. She had no energy for Dumbledore.

“Marina, you must talk,” Dumbledore said. “Tom informs me that you have not eaten since arriving.”

She stared at the ceiling, tracing the little wooden fixtures that held each beam into place. There was a sudden pressure beside her feet and she distantly registered that Dumbledore had sat on her bed.

“Marina,” he said, much more softly. “Please.”

“What do you want from me?” she asked quietly, her voice coming out hoarse and weak.

“For you to talk,” said Dumbledore, calmly. “You were not to change the past, you should not blame yourself for the fate of that poor family.”

Marina remained resolutely silent.

“You cannot go through this alone,” Dumbledore urged.

Despite herself, Marina gave a derisive snort. She looked down at Dumbledore coldly. “You were perfectly happy to leave me to go through it alone for the last two months, Dumbledore, don’t change on my behalf,” she croaked.

“I understand that you’re angry,” he began.

“Angry,” Marina repeated, voice a hollow whisper. Dumbledore fell silent. She forced her elbows back and propped herself up on her forearms. Her hands were deep purple down to her wrists. “Do you really think I’m angry?”

He said nothing, which was probably the wisest thing she’d ever seen him do.

“I am… exhausted,” said Marina breathlessly. “I sit and wait for you to take whatever it is you want to take from me. My life, my time, my health, my happiness…”

“Marina,” Dumbledore tried again.

She wasn’t having any of it.

“You don’t see me as a person, do you?” she said, near whisper. “I’m just a pawn on your board, aren’t I? You move me around strategically, sacrificing me when you need, never thinking of the effect you might have –”

“This was your choice, Marina,” Dumbledore said in a cold, firm voice. “This was your idea.”

“My idea did not include you throwing me away whenever you have no use for me,” she said icily, “or being attacked simply for being a Muggle in Albania, or having my hands look like they’re dying on the ends of my arms because you decided that I’m the only one you could afford to lose in time-travel.”

“That is not why –”

“Why are you here?” Marina interrupted. “What do you want?”

“I came to check on you,” he said evenly. “After Remus’ report on your condition, I was worried –”

Marina lay back down with a sharp exhale. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said monotonously.

Dumbledore lingered for a moment before standing. “If you wish to talk, you may ask one of the Healers to send me an owl,” he said in a calm voice. “I will be in touch.” He turned to Riddle. “Tom,” he nodded, before turning on his heel and walking away.

They both listened to Dumbledore’s retreating footsteps.

“Are you alright?” Riddle asked once he was gone.

“No,” Marina whispered, eyes fixed on the ceiling again.

“No,” Riddle repeated quietly, giving a long breath as he looked back down at his book. “No, I’d expect not.”

He didn’t push her, he just sat in silence beside her. In that moment, Marina appreciated nothing more.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Thank you again for your continued feedback - it is as encouraging as it is motivating! I feel very lucky to have such a wonderful audience, the internet can be a harsh place but your consistent kindness really blows me away. Even my mistakes are pointed out very graciously, and I appreciate that as much as I do the compliments!  
>  Thank you very much :)  
>  °•. ✿ .•° 


	19. A Thing of the Past

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA SHIFTED ON** her support leg, finding her balance as she bent the other up to her hip. She inched her leg outwards perpendicular to her body in a slow-motion kick, trying to hold good form as her muscles strained against the slow movement. Outside the windows of her small room at the Leaky Cauldron, snow was falling in a frantic flurry, resting on the rooftops of the shops of Diagon Alley. It was a few days before Christmas and the cold had encroached in her room enough to inspire her to exercise just to keep warm.

Marina held the position as long as she could before her support leg starting trembling and the strain became near unbearable. She retracted her kick just as slowly, fighting to keep control of her body and keep the movement smooth. Before she could repeat the exercise on the other side, a tap at her window made her look around. A tawny owl flapped at the glass, rapping its beak impatiently as a scroll dangled from its leg. Marina hurried over, wiping sweat off her brow and shaking out her legs as she went. The owl gratefully swooped inside from the cold, immediately coming to a rest on the rail of her bed. She chuckled when it held its little leg out for her to take the letter – it was a strange parallel of what she’d just been doing. After she untied the letter, the owl settled into its feathers, unwilling to return to the snow so soon.

Marina gave its head a little pat as she broke the wax seal on the scroll and smoothed it out.

> _Marina,_
> 
> _I hope this note finds you much recovered. Please meet me at my office at 5 o’clock tonight before our meeting with Albus – if you intend to join us, of course. I wish to discuss some matters with you in private._
> 
> _Yours sincerely,_
> 
> _Minerva McGonagall_

Marina’s eyes lingered on the mentioning of the meeting with Dumbledore; since her discharge from St Mungo’s she’d not heard from him, nor had she attended the meetings. Unlike the last time, she didn’t mind his silence as she’d expressly told him that she didn’t want to talk. Despite her turbulent feelings towards him, she begrudgingly appreciated that he was respecting her wishes.

She sighed, rolling up the note and placing it on her dresser as she lifted her other leg to balance out her exercise. She had an inkling as to what McGonagall wanted to talk about – Marina’s clash with Dumbledore was hardly private knowledge. It wasn’t like the others hadn’t tried to talk her out of it already; less than a week out of St Mungo’s, Remus had taken her out for a meal during which he’d repeatedly mentioned how Dumbledore was concerned about her and hoped that she’d write. Marina had candidly ignored these attempts and he’d given up, not one for striking conflict between the two of them where none already existed.

Moody had given a very different approach, alerting her to his impending visit by owl, arriving exactly on the dot, and launching straight into the conversation with the standard lack of pleasantries that she’d grown to expect from him. Marina actually appreciated this approach significantly more than Remus’ simply because she liked straightforwardness. Moody’s frank inquisition allowed her to be equally candid back without fear of offense or jeopardisation of her relationship with Moody himself. But however different their attempts had been, neither succeeded in changing her feelings – feelings that she realised she’d have to reiterate again for McGonagall that evening.

Marina’s screaming muscles yanked her back to the present and she struggled to keep smooth control as she lowered her leg. Sighing deeply, she dropped to the floor to hold a plank.

Right as she’d lifted herself up onto her forearms her door unceremoniously swung open and Riddle walked in and dropped his bag heavily beside her dresser. He turned and shut the door harder than was strictly necessary. The owl on her bed ruffled its feathers indignantly.

“You seem in a good mood,” she said to the floorboards beneath her face.

“What are you doing on the floor?” he said very disapprovingly.

“It’s an exercise,” she replied patiently, “makes your abs work.”

“Oh,” Riddle said disinterestedly.

“What’s wrong with you, then?” Marina asked.

“Flourish and Blotts said no, too,” he said tensely, beginning to pace her small room.

It was surprising enough for her to look up at him. “Are you serious?”

His expression said it all. She gave a disbelieving whistle. “How can a Muggle get a job in _two_ magical shops, but you can’t even land an interview?”

“You had Dumbledore vouching for you,” Riddle said irately, “and they say it’s because I haven’t technically graduated from Hogwarts yet.” He sounded very annoyed.

“I can’t believe he won’t help you out,” Marina muttered, shaking her head.

“You know why he won’t,” said Riddle testily, still pacing.

Marina grimaced. While he had been given his class curriculum, Riddle was still largely unoccupied during the long days between Horcrux hunts. Having a job would give him something to do, but it also allowed him access to people, information, and money that Dumbledore couldn’t monitor. Considering that Dumbledore still kept Riddle’s diary on his desk at all times and had continued to refuse Riddle’s requests to talk to Myrtle, Marina wasn’t exactly surprised that Dumbledore was unwilling to help Riddle find a job.

“Maybe we can talk to him about it at the meeting tonight,” said Marina as her stomach began to ache from the strain of the plank. 

Riddle stopped pacing. “You’re going to come?”

Marina shifted on her forearms as the floorboards cut a bit painfully into her skin. “Yeah, I think it’s time,” she mumbled.

“Did something happen?” he asked perceptively.

Marina gestured with one arm at her dresser where the note sat. She heard Riddle pick it up and unfold it.

“I think she wants to convince me to talk to Dumbledore,” she said, wincing as the strain in her stomach built. “It’ll be interesting to see what she has to say.”

Curiously, Riddle hadn’t responded. Marina let herself collapse onto the floor and let out a long breath as the exertion ebbed away. After a moment of blissful rest, she pushed herself up and sat back on her shins. She looked over at where Riddle still stood reading the note – he had a strange expression on his face.

“What’s up?” Marina frowned.

Riddle seemed to be jerked from his thoughts. He quickly put down the note. “Nothing,” he said casually, turning to her.

She raised her eyebrows at him, unconvinced. His composure didn’t falter and after a moment she rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Alright, keep your secrets.”

“I will,” he said delicately, lifting his bag from the floor. “Anyway, I should get back. Moody's waiting for me downstairs and I have to finish my Arithmancy essay.”

“Nerd,” she said, extending her arms above her head to stretch out her sore stomach muscles. “Do you want me to edit again?”

“Okay,” he said, opening the door. “I’ll give it to you after the meeting.”

“See you later,” Marina said, squinting as the stretch pulled painfully at her side.

He left without another word and Marina listened to his descending footsteps on the staircase outside her room. Her thoughts and feelings seemed to be a tangled mess in her head that she couldn’t begin to unpick. She sighed again and glanced at the clock on the wall – it was just past three. Thinking that she should probably eat something before she went to see McGonagall, Marina stood and grabbed her jumper and opened the window to let the owl finally - and reluctantly - return to the outside world. The pea soup at the bar downstairs was calling her name.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

At 5 o’clock Marina stepped through the fireplace at the Leakey Cauldron and into McGonagall’s warmly lit office with a cough at the swirling ash that followed her through.

“Ah, Marina,” said the witch from behind her book-laden desk. “You’re right on time.”

It was the first time that Marina had seen the witch in over three months. She looked completely unchanged, dressed in a wide-brimmed pointed hat and deep green robes that looked near black in the flickering candlelight and the glow of the fireplace. Seeing her made Marina feel strangely reassured – after the chaos of the interim between their meetings, McGonagall’s familiar appearance felt like a small breath of stability.

“Please sit,” McGonagall said, gesturing lightly to the empty chair before her.

Marina did so, feeling like a student about to get in trouble.

“Biscuit?” McGonagall asked, holding out a tin of gingerbread cookies that were cut to look like Christmas trees.

Marina’s stomach sank. “Thank you,” she said as she took one, fighting back memories of Shpatena.

McGonagall summoned two cups of tea from thin air and Marina took hers gratefully and took a sip, not asking how McGonagall knew how she liked her tea.

“I wish to talk to you about something of a… delicate nature,” McGonagall began, sipping her own tea. “But before I begin, I would like to say how good it is to see you again. It has been far too long.”

“Well, that wasn’t really my decision,” Marina muttered, dipping the Christmas tree peak first into the tea.

“We will come to that,” McGonagall said pointedly. “However, since I saw you last you have established a new life for yourself, fought back a magical assailant bare-handed, withstood another foray with time-travel, and helped Tom regain another piece of his soul. It would be greatly remiss for me to not offer you my sincerest commendation.”

“Thanks,” Marina said uncomfortably around a bite of her Christmas tree. “It sounds more impressive when you list it like that, honestly it was a bit of a shambles at the time.”

McGonagall gave her a hard look like she disapproved of her shirking the compliment. “This leads me to why I asked you here,” she said deftly. “It has come to my attention that you are… unhappy.”

Marina’s eyes flashed up like she’d been caught in headlights.

“Is this correct?” McGonagall continued, holding her gaze.

Marina’s thoughts were racing. There was something weirdly embarrassing about McGonagall bringing it up and she fought the impulse to deny it and act like everything was fine. “I… suppose you could say that,” Marina said slowly.

McGonagall gave a slow nod. “I am also aware that being isolated has been hard on you.”

“How do you know this? Did Dumbledore say something?” Marina asked, feeling exposed.

“No,” McGonagall said softly. “Not Dumbledore.”

She looked at Marina pointedly, like it should be obvious. Marina stared back, not understanding.

“Remus? Moody?”

McGonagall shook her head. “Tom came to speak with me after you were discharged.”

“ _Tom_?” Marina gaped.

“I was as surprised as you,” admitted McGonagall, sipping her tea. “But I am glad he did so.” She sighed heavily. “Albus is an excellent leader and strategist chiefly because he is capable of seeing the bigger picture, but I am the first to admit that this quality has its downsides,” McGonagall nodded towards Marina. “Which you have felt yourself. He is occasionally prone to overlooking the impact his actions have on the individual.”

Marina scowled. “I don’t want to talk about Dumbledore,” she said, looking at her cup. “Everyone keeps trying to convince me to forget about everything.”

“With good intentions, I am sure,” McGonagall said swiftly. “However, I believe that they have failed to explain why Albus acted as he did.”

“What do you mean?” Marina asked slowly, unable to deny that her attention had been piqued.

“You are aware that Albus is concerned about the degree of influence Tom has over you,” McGonagall began, “but I believe that you remain ignorant of his concerns that Tom is growing dependent on you.”

Marina felt a frown crease her face. “Dependent?”

“After the both of you refused to discuss what happened in 1948, Albus grew wary of the possibility that Tom would grow close with you at the expense of opening up to others,” McGonagall explained. “Separating you and Tom was his way of encouraging Tom to rely on myself, Remus, and Alastor more, both for Tom’s and your own benefit.”

Marina felt flummoxed. The explanation, horribly, made a decent amount of sense. “He didn’t have to leave me with no one,” she said weakly.

“No,” McGonagall agreed with pursed lips. “He did not. That, I will admit, was an oversight of his. However, one could say that it speaks to his faith that you would be able to establish yourself independently.”

Marina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll take it as a compliment,” she said dryly, “but I see your point.”

“All I wish to say is that you should speak to Albus about this,” McGonagall said diplomatically. “I understand that you’re hurt, but we cannot continue as a fractured team.”

Marina felt conflicted - she swallowed hard.

“You may speak freely, Marina,” McGonagall said softly.

Marina took a deep breath and held it a long moment to calm herself before letting it out slowly. “Everyone acts like I’m only here for one thing,” she said quietly, “and that’s this plan. As soon as I stop being useful, it’s like I get dropped on the spot. I – I’m not allowed to be upset,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Because if I am, then I’m jeopardising the whole plan, and that’s selfish. But I can’t help feeling like this,” Marina’s voice trembled.

“You have been given a monumental task,” McGonagall said quietly. “It is understandable that it is taking its toll.”

“Sometimes I just want to go home,” Marina breathed, the confession coming out of her before she could stop it. “I just want to leave all of this behind and go back to my old life. Even though I can’t remember most of it, I know that I was living for myself. I had goals, a direction, I was working towards something – now, I just live for this bloody plan. My whole life revolves around it.” Tears budded in Marina’s eyes, but she couldn’t stop talking. “And whenever I manage to build something for myself here, I have to just drop it all when Dumbledore asks to go be there for Riddle.” She looked up at McGonagall in alarm. “I’m not saying that I don’t want to help him,” she said quickly, “I know that’s more important than all this, I just mean that –”

“I understand what you are saying,” McGonagall said quietly. “You feel like you have lost the right to your own life.”

Hearing her say it felt like some build-up of long-ignored pressure in Marina’s heart had been punctured, and she deflated before McGonagall as the tears spilled over. She nodded silently, not trusting her voice to stay level.

McGonagall offered her a box of tissues and Marina took one gratefully. As she wiped away her tears, McGonagall spoke. “Your feelings are very natural; it is not selfish to long for a life that fulfils your own desires. That you have been removed from such a life is no mean feat.” McGonagall paused thoughtfully. “Though we must all make sacrifices in these circumstances, I can see that this has been particularly hard on you.”

Marina just stared down at her tea.

"That is without accounting for what you have experienced through your journeys with Tom," McGonagall said delicately. "I think it is evident that you are grieving, Marina."

Marina pressed her lips together, trying to hold back tears. The faces of the Albanian family that had sheltered them from the storm swam before her eyes.

McGonagall’s clock gave a delicate chime.

“We must be heading upstairs,” McGonagall said softly, setting her cup down.

Marina stood quickly, placing her cup next to McGonagall’s. Before she could turn for the door, McGonagall stopped her.

“Marina,” she said with surprising gentleness. “Would you like to come back tomorrow? To continue this conversation?”

Marina stared at her. She nodded, feeling emotion push against her throat.

“Would you like to come more regularly? My office is always open to you, should you need someone to talk to,” McGonagall said sincerely, standing.

Marina nodded again. “That – that would be really nice,” she said, forcing her voice to stay even.

McGonagall nodded, giving the slightest, near imperceptible smile. “Good. And rest assured, whatever you wish to discuss will remain confidential, should you wish it.”

“Thanks,” Marina whispered.

“Now,” McGonagall said, picking up her wand from her desk and walking to the door formally. “We are needed at the Headmaster’s office. After you,” she opened the door and stood to let Marina pass. 

Marina gave her a smile as she passed, hoping that somehow it could convey the feelings in her chest that she couldn’t begin to put into words. They made their way to Dumbledore’s office in companionable silence that gave Marina enough time to compose herself. McGonagall banished the giant stone gargoyle with a curt “Ice Mice," and when they entered the eclectic office, they were the last to arrive. Moody was sitting next to Riddle, both of them leaning forward in conversation. Remus was standing beside Fawkes’ stand, and Dumbledore sat at his desk looking pensive.

“Come in,” Dumbledore said warmly to the both of them. “I am so glad you decided to join us, Marina.”

Marina took her seat next to Riddle silently, uncomfortable with the attention of the room.

“Let’s begin,” Dumbledore said, lacing his fingers together. “We have news that Lucius Malfoy has attempted to access the records of St Mungo’s after hearing about your repeated admittance there, Marina. He remains, to the best of our knowledge, ignorant of both Tom’s existence and true identity. We can only assume that he believes that you are being consumed by the diary, resulting in your admittance.”

“He doesn’t know about Tom?” Remus asked, clearly surprised.

Dumbledore shook his head. “Voldemort’s nature is not trusting – I do not think he would have explained to Lucius the true nature of the diary. Marina has explained that originally he targeted an unsuspecting student with the diary, knowing only that it would amount to the Chamber of Secrets being opened.”

“So he thinks that whatever the diary does, it’s doing it to me, and it’s landing me in hospital rather than opening the Chamber?” Marina asked.

“I imagine he is most anxious to retrieve the diary and attempt to carry out Voldemort’s wishes as if he never lost it,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

“What can we do about him?” McGonagall asked, looking terse. “We can hardly have Lucius hunting after Marina.”

“No,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “What do you propose?”

Next to Marina, Moody’s electric blue eye flew into motion, roaming over Riddle as if in thought. “An idea did occur to me,” Moody growled. “Though I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“By all means,” Dumbledore gave a cordial wave of his hand.

“We let him have the diary,” Moody said simply.

All eyes turned to Moody.

“What?” Riddle said sharply.

Moody kept addressing Dumbledore, ignoring the scrutiny of the room. “You said that Malfoy doesn’t know what’s so special about the diary,” he said gruffly. “If we sever Riddle’s connection with it, he’ll be none the wiser that anything’s different should he get his hands on it again. Gets him off our backs, doesn’t it?”

A swoop went through Marina’s stomach. She looked back to Dumbledore with bated breath.

Dumbledore was looking at Moody with deep interest. “You believe that this is the best course of action, Alastor?” he asked in a quiet but intense voice.

Both of Moody’s eyes now assessed Riddle, who stared back with an inscrutable emotion on his face. “Yes,” he said, brusquely. "I think we can handle the boy without the diary."

Marina held her breath for Dumbledore’s reply. The air seemed electrified.

“Having been living with Tom for some time now, I believe that I must trust your assessment,” said Dumbledore evenly. “Minerva – perhaps you could arrange with Tom some supervised visits with Myrtle Warren?”

Marina could barely believe what she was hearing. As McGonagall agreed, she shared a look with Riddle that told her that he felt much the same.

“If that indeed severs Tom’s connection with the diary, I trust that you could find a way for Lucius to retrieve it through convincing circumstances, Alastor?” Dumbledore said, eyes still alight with intensity.

“I’ll make sure he finds it,” Moody said darkly. “Merlin knows we’ve been on enough raids through that manor of his to warrant the return of a few objects that turned up nothing…”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said lightly, eyes briefly assessing Riddle. “If we are correct in our predictions and this allows you to become independent from the diary, I cannot say that it will be an experience akin to what occurred in London or Albania, Tom,” he said, “but can I assume that you are up to the task?”

“Yes,” Riddle said immediately.

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I hope that you fully understand this vote of confidence, Tom,” he said in a dangerous tone, “now that both Alastor and Marina have urged me to grant you autonomy from the diary, squandering it would be an affront to them personally.”

“I understand,” Riddle said in a clipped tone. “I have no intention of running back to Voldemort, Dumbledore.”

They were looking at each other very intensely, like each was waiting for the other to falter.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said finally, still holding Riddle’s gaze. “Then we can move on.” He finally turned his attention back to the rest of the group. “There is another matter to discuss tonight.” Dumbledore’s eyes fell on Marina that sparked a cocktail of apprehension, nerves, and anticipation in her chest. “I have wished to discuss the attack on you in Albania for some time.”

“Oh,” said Marina, taken aback. “Why?”

“You were victim to the unsavoury prejudices of a particularly isolated community of wizards who are yet to reform their opinions with the times,” Dumbledore said smoothly.

Marina scoffed. “Right, because Muggle prejudice is a thing of the past,” she said sarcastically.

“What I mean to say,” Dumbledore continued pointedly, looking at her over his spectacles, “is that I wish to extend my sincerest apologies that you were exposed to such an ugly ideology.”

“Thanks,” Marina said, his intensity making her feel slightly uncomfortable. “I didn’t take it to heart, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Nor should you have,” he replied, warmth creeping into his voice. “And I hope that you do not consider it a reflection of how the majority of the magical world feels. Unfortunately, the most hateful voices tend to be the loudest and most unavoidable…”

“Well,” Marina said reasonably, “maybe the less hateful voices should speak up.”

“If you mean to say that you think we should have helped more –” Remus began.

“No,” Marina waved her hand, "no I was fine. I just mean that over the next few years –”

“Proceed carefully, Marina,” Dumbledore warned.

She nodded at him and continued, confident that what she had to say wasn’t specific enough to endanger anything. “Over the next few years, anti-Muggle-born and anti-Muggle rhetoric gets pretty popular. Sitting quietly and letting hateful voices do the talking doesn’t do much good.”

Riddle shifted ever so slightly uneasily in his seat, drawing her ire. “Did something I say make you uncomfortable, Riddle?” she asked coolly.

He gave her an annoyed look. “No,” he said tensely, his eyes flicking pointedly towards Dumbledore.

She took the hint. “Hmm,” she said, turning away from him unapologetically. She didn’t mind that Dumbledore was watching their interaction intently – if anything, it was good if he saw that she was capable of criticising Riddle.

“If that is all,” Dumbledore said, still observing Marina and Riddle, “I believe that is everything.”

McGonagall stood immediately. “Thank you Albus, I must return to my marking.” She looked at Marina and gave her a slight nod before leaving. Marina watched her go, appreciating that she had made no mention of their earlier meeting, nor their intention to have another.

“I must get back, too,” Remus said tiredly. “Tomorrow is the full moon and I must… prepare.” He stepped towards the fireplace, stopping momentarily by Marina’s chair.

“Marina,” he began, a guilty look on his face. “I’m sorry that I didn’t –”

She held up her hand to interrupt him. “Honestly Remus, it’s fine,” she said, “you can’t take responsibility for other people being stupid. And really, I was fine. If you guys hadn’t gotten me out of there so quickly, I’m sure things would have gotten much worse.”

He nodded, but his expression hadn’t changed. He stepped away through the fireplace before Marina could say more.

“We better head off,” Moody said in his gravelly voice, standing and clapping Riddle on the shoulder.

“Wait a moment,” Riddle said suddenly. He drew a scroll of parchment from his bag and looked towards Marina as if asking permission to give it to her.

She sighed and held out her hand. “You’re lucky I’m so benevolent,” she said in mock sternness.

He gave a very small smile. “Last time – the thing you did with the wording of my conclusion –”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it again,” she said, taking the parchment and giving it a cursory glance. “Man, I wish all students wrote like you, Riddle – some exam papers I’ve marked before, honestly you’d think they’d taped a pen to a branch and let the wind do all the work.”

“I’ll pick it up tomorrow?” Riddle asked as Moody prompted him to the fireplace.

“My break is at one,” Marina called, casting her attention over his introduction as she stood. “Stop using the word ‘zenith’ Riddle, no one uses the word ‘zenith!’”

The roar of the fireplace alerted her of their exit, and she looked up at Dumbledore to say goodbye herself.

“Marina,” Dumbledore said quite pleasantly, leaning back in his chair. “Would you be willing to stay a moment?”

Marina stared, letting Riddle’s essay roll back up on itself. “Sure,” she said slowly, sitting again. “What’s up?”

He cast his x-ray gaze across her, and she felt the goosebumps spring up on her forearms. “We are long overdue for a conversation, are we not?” he said in his even, inscrutable voice. “So, let us talk – tell me, what have I done to lose your trust?”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	20. The Thought that Counts

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **“DO YOU WANT** the general overview? Or an itemised list?”

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly. “I was hoping that we could speak plainly, Marina,” he said calmly.

“Alright,” Marina nodded recklessly. “How about when you cut me off after I made it clear to you that I valued Riddle’s privacy more than your favour? Or when you refused to change your opinion on Riddle even after the both of us went through hell to go along with this plan? Or when you ditched me in Diagon Alley and didn’t give a second thought about how it would affect me? Or when you showed up expecting me to drop everything and fling myself back into harm’s way?” Marina’s hands were trembling, partly from anger and partly from fear at being so confrontational. “Or how about,” her voice grew louder, “how about the fact that not once have you tried to help me get my memories back?”

“Would you like me to address each of those individually?” Dumbledore responded, infuriatingly calm.

Marina was too angry to reply. Dumbledore nodded, taking her tense silence as affirmation.

“You first mentioned that I distanced you from our discussions after you returned from 1948,” he said, assessing her with a composure that felt like an affront. “At the time, I thought it best to give you and Tom space from the context of our plan. I thought that it would encourage Tom to speak with you personally, without the implication that he was required to do so.”

Marina’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking, but she felt a chill slash through her anger. She had the horrible feeling that Dumbledore was about to make a long series of frustratingly good points.

“Secondly, you accuse me of reluctance to change what I think about Tom. This could not be further from the truth. I am incredibly willing, perhaps more than anyone, to believe that Tom has changed” – Marina opened her mouth indignantly, but Dumbledore raised a swift hand to silence her – “however, what you and I consider adequate proof of true change is significantly different… you could say that my bar for Tom is much higher. Considering my personal experience with him, I believe that this is understandable.

“Thirdly, the matter of leaving you to your own devices in Diagon Alley,” Dumbledore said. “I admit that I failed to explain to you why distance between yourself and Tom was necessary, let me do so now. You must have seen yourself that Tom growing closer with you was leaving him increasingly distant from the rest of us. If he developed a singular dependence on you, I feared that Tom would begin to associate his relationship with you with his ability to grow. It would only take losing that relationship to revert him back to his original mindset. More importantly - as you said yourself when we first spoke - one person alone could not help Tom accomplish this task. This has always needed a strong team and you cannot bear that burden alone. Tom needs to nurture relationships with all of us, not just with you.”

“You only think about the plan,” Marina breathed, “you didn’t care how it would affect me –”

“I do care,” Dumbledore said quietly, “I was simply unaware.”

“Unaware?” Marina repeated unsympathetically. “You didn’t know that cutting me off from everyone I know would make my life significantly more miserable?”

“I did not know how you felt, Marina,” Dumbledore said, looking appropriately sombre. “Perhaps there was more I could have done to seek out that knowledge, though I confess, I assumed that you would be fine.”

“Why would you assume that?” Marina asked fiercely.

“You are strong,” he said simply, “you will not find me underestimating you.”

“Overestimating me, instead,” said Marina, annoyed that he was complimenting her. She didn’t want him to compliment her, she wanted him to apologise.

“I do not think so,” he said quietly, “overlooking your needs perhaps, but not overestimating you. Which brings me to your next point. You feel that I expect you to abandon your life, to live at beck and call for the sake of this plan, is that correct?”

Marina grit her teeth and nodded.

“I do expect that of you,” Dumbledore said seriously. “I am surprised to hear that this upsets you. All of us have an obligation to give everything we can to help Tom succeed, not only for Tom’s sake but for the future of the whole wizarding world,” he continued softly. “You are right to assume that I expect you to prioritise that over your personal life.”

“That’s not the part that upsets me,” Marina interjected, “it’s that it doesn’t seem to bother you at all!”

“I do care, Marina,” Dumbledore repeated assertively, “I care very much.”

“You don’t act like it,” Marina retorted.

“How would you have me act?”

“You could ask me!” Marina shouted. “You could have asked me about any of this! Told me anything about why you were doing what you were doing! If you think I’m so bloody strong, why do you never tell me _anything?_ ”

Dumbledore assessed her thoughtfully. “You wish to be more involved in discussing my decisions,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

“Yes,” Marina said, the air falling from her sails at his simplistic summary.

“You understand that I would expect you to give me your best judgements, free from your emotional responses?” he asked smoothly.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” she huffed, “you don’t need another person who separates their emotions from their decisions, you need someone who actually _does_ think about that stuff. Maybe we can balance out somewhere in the middle.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, leaning on the arms of his chair. “You are offering a perspective with a different set of priorities to my own.”

“Yes,” Marina repeated, again surprised that he understood her meaning so easily.

He seemed to think a moment. “I am willing to try,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Given that it is clearly important to you.”

“Alright,” she said, a bit flabbergasted. McGonagall had been right – if it were that easy, she really should have talked to him sooner.

“There was one final point that you mentioned,” Dumbledore said softly. “The matter of your memories. I have long anticipated when you would approach me about this…”

“What do you mean?” Marina asked, tensing.

“I will of course help you attempt to recover the memories of your former life,” he began, “but I wonder… is this what you really want?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Marina whispered.

“You are – forgive me – stranded here, Marina,” said Dumbledore, holding her gaze steadily, “since the mechanism behind how you arrived is unclear, we have no way to send you home. Your memories would only introduce pain at the knowledge of your loss, would they not?”

Marina froze. “Are you saying that I should willingly stay like this?” she breathed.

“I am simply suggesting that you fully consider what you are asking,” he said gently. “Perhaps take a week to mull it over. If you still wish to unearth your memories when the Order next meets, I will take you at your word that you have fully contemplated the consequences.”

Marina nodded distantly, a long series of inscrutable emotions hanging heavy over her. It wasn’t the response she had been expecting.

“If that is all,” Dumbledore said quietly, “I hope that I have somewhat redeemed myself in your eyes, Marina.”

She struggled to respond, conflicted. “Understanding why you acted the way you did doesn’t change the fact that it hurt,” she said finally, “it just means that I understand.”

“Perhaps our new understanding of each other can foster a more positive relationship between us,” said Dumbledore carefully.

Marina nodded slowly. “Sure,” she said, feeling largely unconvinced. She wasn’t quite able to shake the feeling that Dumbledore wouldn’t be bothering to hash things out with her if the animosity between them wasn’t so obviously compromising the plan with Riddle. 

“I will be in touch,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the surface of his desk. Riddle’s diary sat before him and he gave it a thoughtful look.

Marina stood, pausing before she turned to leave. “Sir,” she said.

Dumbledore looked up cordially.

“After this is done, all this stuff with Riddle I mean…” Marina swallowed hard. “If I can’t get home, what am I going to do? Am I just going to have to live here from now on?”

Dumbledore was silent a long moment. “I think that is up to you,” he said very quietly.

Marina’s heart sank. The realisation that she really might never get home pressed heavily in on her.

“Rest assured, Marina,” Dumbledore said, “however I can help you, I will do so.”

“Thanks,” she nodded, looking down at Riddle’s essay to distract from the prickling tears in her eyes. She felt like she was constantly on the brink of tears these days. “I better go, I have to go over this tonight,” she gestured with the essay vaguely.

“Of course,” he said gently as she turned to the fireplace.

“See you later, sir,” she said hastily, seizing a handful of Floo powder.

“Goodnight, Marina.”

With a green roar of flames, she was gone.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina stretched up on the tips of her toes trying to reach the spare carton of glittering black beetles to feed the frogs. As her fingertips grazed its side, it knocked into its neighbour, a large cage that teetered threateningly over the edge of the shelf and Marina froze, willing with all her might that it stay put. Slowly the cage toppled over and hit the floor with a loud crash that sent a wave of titters and shrill cries through the shop as Marina swore loudly. A swarm of jewel-toned crabs with long curled shells and large pincers emerged from the cage and marched across the store excitedly.

“Shit,” Marina said again, pulling down the carton of beetles and tiptoeing around the crabs to the other side of the store. She heaved the carton onto the counter and set to work recovering each of the crabs, each of them deviously hiding and snipping its pincers at her sadly when she picked them up and returned them to their cage.

A full twenty minutes of work later, Marina finally slid the cage back onto the top shelf, sweaty, red in the face, and out of breath. The last crab had managed to climb its way into the Salamander enclosure, forcing Marina to catch it using a long pair of iron tongs to avoid getting scorched.

“Is this a bad time?” came a familiar voice from the front door. Riddle was looking pointedly at her dishevelled state.

She hadn’t even heard the bell chime. “No, come in,” Marina heaved a sigh, wiping her brow and gesturing at the counter. “Your essay’s over there, I’ll just be a sec.”

As he made his way over to it, Marina scattered some of the beetles into the frog tanks, making sure that Gilbert didn’t steal the smaller frogs’ lunches before she turned back to Riddle.

“Looks alright?” she asked as he scanned her comments.

He nodded, looking up at her. There was a strangely awkward pause.

“What did McGonagall want?” he asked very casually as he stowed the essay carefully in his bag.

“She told me you talked to her, Riddle,” Marina said, smirking. “Is that why you were weird yesterday when you saw the note? I’d find out you’d been gossiping?”

“I wasn’t ‘gossiping,’” he snapped disparagingly.

A thought occurred to Marina like a strike of lightning. “Did you tell her how I like my tea?” she asked, amused.

Riddle looked taken aback. “I –” he stammered.

“You did!” Marina accused, delighted. “If that’s not gossiping, I don’t know what is!”

“She _asked_ ,” he said tensely, looking like he deeply regretted bringing it up.

“How do you even _know_ how –”

“You drink more cups of tea than anyone I’ve ever seen put together,” he said coldly. “The information is irreparably seared into my brain.”

“Well, thanks for talking to her,” Marina said, watching a small tree frog hop hopefully towards a beetle before Gilbert snatched it up with his long tongue.

“I have to go hand in my essay,” Riddle said blandly instead of responding to her thanks.

“Alright,” said Marina, bemused. “See you later, then.”

He hesitated.

“Something else on your mind?” Marina prompted wryly.

“Yes,” he said, expression wooden.

Marina frowned, realising it was something serious. “What’s up?”

“Was your intention yesterday to denigrate me?” he demanded.

She stared. “What?”

“In front of Dumbledore, all that about ‘anti-Muggle rhetoric’,” Riddle said, mouth turned unpleasantly.

Marina gave a scoff. “I think your own actions make you look bad without my help, Riddle,” she said dryly, turning back to the frogs.

“You didn’t have to bring it up like that,” he snapped, “Dumbledore already suspects that I –”

“I’m not going to cover up your weird racism for you,” she retorted, pushing a fat beetle towards the tree frog. “The fact that you still haven’t gotten over it is pretty appalling, to be honest.”

Riddle glared at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said angrily.

“Yeah, of course I don’t,” she drawled. “Must have been mistaken when I heard you say that shit about how superior wizards are all the time and how I’ll never amount to anything because I don’t have magic –”

“I never said –”

“Don’t start, Riddle,” Marina interrupted, eyes flashing. “I have to listen to you badmouthing me non-stop, don’t pretend like you don’t.”

“I’m not talking about you _,_ ” he said hotly.

“Oh? Just the vague, amorphous concept of Muggles in general? You’re aware I am a Muggle, right? That when you say that shit, you _are_ talking about me?”

“You’re different,” he said like it was obvious.

“That’s bullshit,” Marina heaved up the carton of beetles and marched across the store to return it. “That’s utter bullshit. I’m not different in the slightest, it’s just easier for you to think that you’ve met an exception to the rule rather than admit that you were wrong about Muggles.” She angrily shoved the carton back onto its shelf.

He was glaring again. “You can’t deny that magic gives wizards incomparable power compared to –”

“Are you sure?” she wheeled around to face him. “Are you sure wizards are more powerful? Because it was Muggle medicine that kept you from dying in that café with Billy, and it was Muggle combat that stopped that guy from attacking me in Albania, and it was a Muggle family that helped you get back part of your soul after taking you in from that storm, and it was my Muggle ass who’s been rooting for you since the beginning!”

Riddle’s face contorted angrily. “Muggle medicine,” he spat, “failed to save my mother’s life, Muggle combat tore the world apart in a war that killed millions –”

“And it was a wizard who committed crimes horrible enough to destroy his own soul and start a genocide in response,” Marina breathed back. “You’re not describing the difference between the magical and Muggle worlds; you’re talking about humanity.”

They were face to face, glaring resolutely at each other. A tense moment passed.

“Here,” Riddle snapped, pulling something from his pocket and forcing it into her hand.

She took it without thinking, surprised. “What’s this?”

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” he said irritably, turning and stalking towards the door.

Marina stared agape at the small brown-paper package in her hand. “Are you serious?”

Riddle wrenched the door open.

“Wait a second,” Marina said hastily.

Thankfully, he paused. She turned to the counter and placed the small package upon it, reaching for her bag as she extracted a book from its depths. “I haven’t had time to wrap it yet –”

He stared with a strange mask of emotion on his face. Slowly, he shut the door and approached her. He took the book with his long fingers and studied the cover.

“It’s blank,” he said deprecatingly. As he cracked it open, he gave her a sceptical look. “This book is empty.”

“Yes,” she said, unable to resist a smile.

He raised an eyebrow wryly. “If this is another diary, I’m afraid I’d have to say this gift is in very poor taste –”

“It’s not a diary,” she rolled her eyes. “Though that would have been a hilarious present, and I should have thought of it myself.”

“What is it then?” he asked, looking at the book with a frown.

“It’s a customisable encyclopaedia,” she said, excited. “I found it in Obscurus Books, I think they were popular a few centuries ago. You open a page and think about something you want to know about, and it’ll produce an encyclopaedia entry for that thing – but it’ll keep track of what you’ve looked up, so you can go back through what you’ve studied!”

He stared. “You bought me a scrapbook.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” she pushed his shoulder. “Just try it.”

Riddle looked down at the first page of the book and contemplated it. Immediately, words bled up from the paper and Marina saw the image of a snake curl its way into existence.

“Did you seriously just think about snakes?” she asked monotonously.

“No,” he replied, giving her a caustic look. “I thought about Parseltongue.”

“You’re just about the most predictable person I’ve ever met,” she shook her head.

He shut the encyclopaedia with a snap. “Open yours, then,” he said by means of retort.

“No,” she said, folding her arms. “I like waiting for Christmas day.”

Riddle looked exasperated. “What’s the difference between opening it now and –”

“I think you should just accept that we do things differently, you and I,” she said, patting his arm in mock reassurance.

“The way you do things doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, stowing the book in his bag.

She grinned as he made his way back to the door. “Thanks for the present, Riddle,”

“You can’t thank me for it yet, you don’t know what it is,” he said stiffly, hand on the door handle.

“Yes, I can,” she laughed, patting Dina who had jumped up onto the counter next to her and was nuzzling at her side. “Thought that counts and all that.”

“Yes, well,” he said uncomfortably, half turning back to her. “Thanks for… you know. Thanks.” He opened the door and left without waiting her reply. 

Marina looked at the small, neatly wrapped package that rested on the countertop as Dina began to purr. There was a long way to go with Riddle – their most recent clash proved that most poignantly – but the little parcel sitting before her made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, things might really work out after all.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  I accidentally posted this early instead of saving it as a draft, so if it's a bit more sloppy than usual it's because I edited it in a panicked haze whilst it was already live....   
>  °•. ✿ .•° 


	21. Gifts and Ghosts

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **CHRISTMAS MORNING BROKE** over Diagon Alley with a flurry of thick snowfall. Kaleidoscopic ice patterns stretched across Marina’s frozen windowpanes and she pulled on two pairs of socks to ward off the cold before rounding on the small pile of gifts that sat in at the foot of her bed.

Mrs Weasley had invited Marina to go with them to Romania to visit Charlie but she had opted to stay in London – she hadn’t wanted to intrude on their family holiday since they saw Charlie so infrequently. Plus, if she was being honest, Marina was excited to explore Diagon Alley and see how the wizarding world celebrated Christmas. In lieu of her refusal, Mrs Weasley had plied her with as many gifts and treats as possible, evidently distraught at the idea of Marina spending Christmas alone. Marina’s room was laden with the fruits of Mrs Weasley’s efforts – a tin of fat mince pies sat on the dresser next to a large gingerbread rendition of the Burrow that leaned at an impossible angle with long sugar icicles dangling from its roof. Marina had found room for the plate of treacle tarts on the desk – but she’d had to precariously place the round Christmas cake with its dripped white icing on her spare chair since there was no other place for it.

It felt only right to start with Mrs Weasley’s gift first; a large lumpy present wrapped in bright red paper and tied with gold string. Marina carefully undid the knot and pulled off the paper revealing – to her delight – a huge hand-knit jumper of thick green wool with a pale pink ‘M’ on the front. She replaced her old yellow jumper with it immediately, grinning.

Turning back to the present pile and suddenly feeling very Christmassy, Marina unwrapped an elegant white quill in a gleaming wooden case from McGonagall, a glazed ceramic mug from Remus that looked perfect for hot chocolates, a bottle of Colour-Change Ink from Dumbledore, and a strange golden trinket that she assumed was from Moody since the only note attached with it said ‘Merry Christmas – keep an eye open.’ Unable to tell what it was, Marina placed it gingerly back in the small leather pouch it had come in and left it undisturbed. If it was from Moody, there was no telling what it could do.

Marina rounded on the last present – the small parcel Riddle had given her sat almost nondescript amongst her new things. She picked it up and turned it over, examining the neatly wrapped brown paper and thin simple twine that held it together. A loud knock at her door broke her attention and she jumped in surprise. Marina set down the present and opened the door to reveal a very festive looking Dumbledore dressed in crimson robes with golden trim.

“Marina!” he beamed. “Thank you so much for your gift…” he extended his foot so that Marina could see the bright purple woollen socks she’d given him peeking out above his shoes. “They are exactly what I wanted,” he said, eyes gleaming.

“You’re welcome, sir,” Marina grinned. “Thought you might like a break from all the books. And – thanks for the ink!”

“My pleasure,” Dumbledore smiled. “Now, I apologise for interrupting your Christmas day, however there has been a development…”

Marina was serious at once. “What’s happened?”

“Not to worry, my dear,” Dumbledore said calmly, holding up a hand. “All is well. I simply mean to say that Tom is meeting Miss Myrtle Warren today – I thought that you would want to be there.

“Oh,” she said blandly. “Oh Christmas?”

“Tom doesn’t appear to put much distinction on the day,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “He requested that we start as soon as possible.”

“Alright,” Marina said, looking around her room. “Give me a moment –”

She hastily pulled on her boots and after a moment’s thought grabbed Riddle’s present before she turned back to Dumbledore and followed him down the stairs and into the already bustling pub. A huge Christmas tree stood against the wall with real fairies floating daintily amongst the branches, but other than that the Leakey Cauldron’s décor was scant. Despite this, the atmosphere in the room was alive with cheer, and groups of witches and wizards were already gathered in loud, exuberant conversation.

They made their way directly to the broad fireplace. Marina gave Tom the innkeeper a cheery wave before the green flames engulfed them and they were stepping out into Dumbledore’s office. It was empty except for Fawkes who gave a low musical cry at their appearance and shifted on his golden stand.

“So who’s coming to this thing, then?” Marina asked, walking up to Fawkes and holding up a hand for him to inspect.

“Alastor should be here with Tom shortly, and Minerva indicated that she would join as well,” Dumbledore said, taking a seat at his desk as Fawkes nudged his beak against Marina’s hand.

At that moment the fire roared and both Moody and Riddle stepped out in the middle of an intense conversation.

“– if Ekrizdis found Azkaban already infested with Dementors, or if his actions caused them to spawn afterwards,” Riddle was saying.

“No way of telling,” Moody said simply, giving Dumbledore a nod of greeting which he politely returned. “Not that it matters, now. The place has the highest number of Dementors in the whole hemisphere.”

“But if we could tell which came first,” Riddle pressed as they approached, “we would know if Dementors could generate outside of human bounds.”

“Aye,” Moody stopped just beside Marina, “though it doesn’t do much for how to get rid of them. Damn things will stick around for as long as there’s misery in the air.”

Riddle was slowly pacing with his hands clasped loosely behind him as he examined the huge ornate orrery that sat next to the wall of Dumbledore’s office. “And not even the Patronus Charm kills them,” he said, brow creased in thought.

Moody’s blue eye whizzed over to him even as he rounded on Marina, regular eye scanning her. “Why aren’t you wearing the Wardore?”

“The –” Marina said, staring at him blankly.

“The Wardore, I gave you a Wardore,” Moody growled.

“What’s a –”

“They’re named after the magical metal from which they are made,” Riddle said, looking around at Marina’s baffled expression. “Goblins usually use Wardore to make jewellery because it has a natural ability to ward off harmful spells – to a degree,” he added.

“Fat lot of good it’ll do it you don’t put it on,” said Moody, scowling. “Can’t have you getting cursed again, can we?”

Dumbledore, who had been watching their conversation contently, suddenly spoke. “Wardore are incredibly rare, Alastor” he said curiously, “I did not know you had one.”

“I still have three,” Moody said gruffly – and for the first time Marina noted the heavy golden ring that sat on his thumb whose strange geometric form much resembled the trinket she’d unwrapped that morning. The hint of a golden chain beneath his collar suggested at the second, and the third was apparently too concealed for her to see.

“Can they ward off any curse?” Marina said in wonder, staring at the ring.

“No,” Moody said with a slight bark of a laugh, “just the minor ones. And they won’t do much good if someone’s throwing a whole lot of curses at once – but it’ll do some cushioning at the least.”

“I’ll put it on when I get home,” Marina promised sincerely.

Moody only nodded and leaned on his wooden leg as Dumbledore’s office door swung open and McGonagall entered dressed in deep red and green tartan robes and looking exceptionally beleaguered.

“Peeves has been up since the crack of dawn pelting anyone he sees with mistletoe and shrieking obscenities at them,” McGonagall said at Marina’s quizzical expression. She turned towards Riddle and the others, straightening her tall pointed hat. “Well now, Merry Christmas to you all,” she said busily. “Shall we?” she gestured to the door.

Riddle nodded and stepped towards her, glancing slightly at Marina. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Do you want me to come?” she asked with a small smirk.

Riddle hesitated. “If you like,” he said evenly.

“Well, you’ve twisted my arm,” Marina said wryly, giving Fawkes’ head one final pat as she turned away to follow McGonagall and Riddle out the door. Marina saw Moody step up towards Dumbledore’s desk, looking over his shoulder at them as if waiting for them to leave before he began speaking.

The door swung shut behind her cutting off her view of the two men, and Marina hastened to catch up with her two companions as they briskly walked through the corridors towards the second floor.

“Nice jumper,” Riddle said smoothly, giving her a side eye as she fell into place next to him.

“Thanks,” she grinned, ignoring his tone. “Mrs Weasley made it for me.”

“Yes, I… also received one,” he said stiffly.

“Why aren’t you wearing it?” she exclaimed.

“It’s not my style,” he said diplomatically, though he looked ever so slightly embarrassed.

Marina was delighted. The thought of Riddle wearing a Weasley jumper was the best present she’d gotten all day. They rounded a corner when Marina suddenly felt like a bucket of ice water had been tipped over her head. Marina gasped, giving a violent shiver.

“Oh,” a serene voice said, “my apologies, I did not see you…”

“For goodness sake,” McGonagall said tensely, “must this Christmas revolve around ghosts?”

Marina turned to see the translucent form of a tall woman with ash grey skin and long, flowing black hair. She looked at Marina without seeing, her dark eyes distant and her face proud. The cold snow-filtered sunlight lit one side of her beautiful face while bright warmth from the flaming stone wall sconces danced across the other.

“Helena?” Marina asked tentatively.

The ghost’s gaze sharpened on her immediately. “I see that my attempts to keep my former identity private are losing their effectiveness,” she said coolly. “But yes, that is I.”

“Sorry,” said Marina sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to –”

But Helena Ravenclaw was no longer paying her any attention. Her beautiful features had drawn taught, almost horrified as she stared at Riddle, and Marina felt like she’d walked through the ghost all over again.

“Oh,” she said lamely.

“You…” Helena whispered, distraught.

Riddle glanced at Marina, silently asking for an explanation; she realised with a jolt that he must have approached Helena about Ravenclaw’s diadem after he’d made his first Horcrux. The Riddle before them had no memory of ever speaking to her.

Marina stepped in front of the ghost, attempting to draw her attention.

“Er – this is going to sound crazy, but this isn’t the same person who asked you about the diadem,” Marina said hastily, holding up her hands. “Well – it is,” she amended at Helena’s disbelieving expression, “but – no wait!”

It was no use. Helena Ravenclaw shook her head with her face still contorted with horror, floated through the stone wall beside them and vanished.

“What is going on?” McGonagall asked sternly.

“Riddle technically bullied the location of the diadem out of her in his sixth or seventh year,” Marina said, sighing as she looked at where Helena had vanished.

Riddle’s confused expression melted away into an impassable mask. “I see,” he said simply.

“Well, let us continue on,” McGonagall prompted, waving her hands at them slightly to get them moving again. “There are yet more ghosts in store for us today.”

They hastily made their way towards the second floor, occasionally passing a student who gave curious looks at the Muggle-dressed strangers following McGonagall through the castle. Finally, they stopped outside a doorway on the second-floor corridor and Marina could hear the faint sobbing of a young girl from inside. Riddle’s face had grown increasingly stony as they’d drawn closer to the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, and now that they could hear Myrtle, his tension was palpable. Marina realised that unlike his previous confrontations, this time he was personally responsible for her death. A series of complicated but decidedly unpleasant emotions twisting in Marina’s stomach as Myrtle’s sobs echoed down the corridor; the convenient distance between Riddle and Voldemort’s actions had been pulled out from under her feet and she was finding it hard to look his way.

McGonagall rounded on them, her face softened slightly. “I will attend the doorway and make sure no one disturbs you,” she said. “Should things go astray, you only need to call for me.” She placed a hand on Riddle’s shoulder, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod, jaw tight.

Unease curling inside her, Marina made towards the door, only stopping when Riddle stepped in front of her.

“No,” he said quickly. “I – I would like to do this alone.”

Marina stared. “Sorry?”

Riddle’s brow creased. “I think I should talk to her alone,” he said, “it seems like the right thing to do. After all…” he swallowed hard and trailed off, but his meaning was clear. He had been the one to set the Basilisk on Myrtle, he was responsible for her death. To confront her was going to be even harder for her as it would be for him.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Tom,” McGonagall interjected gently, “but Dumbledore will not permit you so close to the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets without someone with you.”

Riddle stared at her, looking conflicted. “Alright,” he said after a long moment, “then, could you come with me?”

Marina tried to ignore the rush of hurt at his words. Riddle was firmly avoiding her gaze, staring resolutely at McGonagall awaiting her answer.

“Of course,” McGonagall said carefully, casting her eyes towards Marina before returning back to Riddle. “If that is what you want.”

Riddle only nodded and looked back at the entrance to the bathroom, ignoring Marina’s stare.

“If you could watch the door, Marina,” McGonagall said quietly, “I think it best that this conversation goes undisturbed.”

Marina nodded stiffly and said nothing. Riddle wasn’t facing her so she couldn’t see his expression, but he suddenly stepped up to the door and pushed through it. McGonagall gave Marina’s arm a small squeeze as she passed, and then the door clicked shut and they were gone. Marina didn’t understand it. Though it seemed petty in comparison to the task he was about to undertake, Marina couldn’t deny that she felt hurt at his decision to take McGonagall instead. Why would he ask her to come with him if he didn’t intend for her to join?

 _‘But he didn’t ask you to come with him,’_ she thought suddenly. _‘You invited yourself.’_ Marina sat heavily on the stone bench that was pressed against the corridor wall. She firmly told herself that she was being stupid, that she was by no means the only person who could go with Riddle on these journeys, that it was even a good thing that he was relying on others instead of her – but her sullen mood didn’t lift. Myrtle’s sobs had gone quiet, and in the silence of the corridor Marina waited.

Over the next hour Marina only saw one student – a young Hufflepuff girl who hurried past her without looking up - and more ghosts she didn’t recognise drifted by without stopping. Another hour crept by and still McGonagall and Riddle did not emerge.

As the third hour drew to an end, Marina rolled onto her other side where she was sprawled on the bench, heaving a heavy sigh. Right as she did so, something hard jutted into her leg and she sprung up in pain. Reaching to her pocket, she realised that she’d laid upon Riddle’s Christmas present that had been sitting in her pocket all morning – though its brown wrapping paper was decidedly more creased than it had been when he’d given it to her. Looking around at the closed door Marina wondered if it was the right time to open it, but before she had time to decide what to do, the door sprung open and Marina leapt to her feet in anticipation.

Riddle stepped out into the corridor, his face in a deep and conflicted frown. As he saw her, he caught sight of the present in her hands and his eyebrows raised in surprise seemingly impulsively. “Why on earth haven’t you opened that yet?” he asked coolly.

“Never mind that,” Marina shoved the present back into her pocket. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Riddle’s face fell again. “Yes,” he said in a clipped voice. “Fine.”

There was a pause.

“Is that it?” Marina prompted, agitated.

“I am under no obligation to disclose every detail to you, Marina,” he snapped as McGonagall emerged from the bathroom.

“I didn’t say you were,” Marina frowned, taken aback at his response. “I was only –”

“You aren’t the sole arbitrator of significant events in my life,” he continued callously, “I don’t expect to have to ask permission to keep things private –”

“Alright,” Marina held up her hands, stepping back. The hurt in her chest was irrefutable now. “Alright, I’m sorry.”

“Tom,” McGonagall said quietly. “I’m sure Marina didn’t mean –”

But Riddle just spun on his heel and stalked off down the corridor.

“Don’t take it to heart, Marina,” McGonagall said, her face sombre. “He’s just had a difficult conversation.”

“Right,” Marina said dispassionately as they started following Riddle down the hall. “Of course.”

By the time they arrived back in Dumbledore’s office, Marina wasn’t feeling any better. The initial hurt had been joined with a horrible feeling of guilt and a pressing concern that wasn’t alleviated by Dumbledore’s cool assessment of Riddle the moment he re-entered the room.

“How did you fair?” Dumbledore asked evenly, looking between Riddle’s stormy expression and Marina’s dismayed one.

“Fine,” Riddle repeated stiffly. He said nothing more.

Dumbledore’s eyes raked over him intently. “Would you like to try –” he gestured to the diary on his desk.

Riddle visibly clenched his teeth, but he strode forward and reached towards the thin faded book without hesitation. His fingers closed around the diary and he lifted it with an impassive expression, barely reacting before he allowed it to fall back to Dumbledore’s desk and turning towards Moody. “When can we leave?” he asked abruptly.

Moody looked at Dumbledore who nodded gently. “Now,” he said, standing and groaning slightly as his wooden leg took his weight.

Riddle gave a curt nod and was by the fireplace in a second. A moment later, Moody joined him and they were gone without another word.

“Well,” McGonagall said tiredly. “I suppose I should explain.”

“I’m going home,” Marina said immediately. Both McGonagall and Dumbledore looked at her in surprise. “Riddle didn’t want me to know,” she said dully. “It’s not right if I just hear it from you anyway.”

“If you’re sure,” McGonagall said slowly, looking concerned.

“Just – is he alright?” Marina couldn’t resist asking.

McGonagall paused. “He will be,” she said eventually. “But it was… a challenging experience.”

Marina nodded and made her way to the fireplace. “Let me know when the next meeting will be,” she said to Dumbledore. “We should go for the next Horcrux soon, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he said gently. “Merry Christmas to you, Marina.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said with a weak attempt at a smile. She threw down the Floo powder and stepped into the bustling Leakey Cauldron. She beelined for the stairs and racing up them two at a time, pushing her straining muscles to keep the pace all the way to the third floor. She burst into her room and wrenched off her boots, collapsing backwards onto her bed with an outburst of breath and closing her eyes.

Riddle was right – she had no right to know everything - but she’d thought that they were past that. She’d thought that they were friends, that he’d want her to know. The horrible knowledge that she was being incredibly selfish in overlooking what he’d just been through hung heavy over her heart, but she couldn’t help the hurt. Marina pulled his present out of her pocket and stared at it. Somehow it felt wrong to open it now. She pushed herself upright and gently placed it on her bedside table before standing. She needed a distraction.

Marina pulled on her coat, found the warmest hat that Mrs Weasley had knitted for her, tugged on a pair of gloves, and retrieved her boots from where she’d kicked them. Remembering her promise to Moody she extracted the strange golden geometric charm from its leather pouch and placed its chain around her neck, letting it fall under her shirt. Set, Marina turned towards her door. It was as good a time as any for her Christmas exploration of Diagon Alley.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


	22. The Wand

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA WASN'T SURPRISED** when the next day an owl from Dumbledore arrived letting her know that Riddle intended to go for the next Horcrux that very week - what did surprise her was the fact that he’d chosen the Gaunt ring over Hufflepuff’s cup. Dumbledore had included in his note an invitation to discuss this with him, and at his request, Marina stepped through into his office at midday on the dot.

“Take a seat, Marina,” Dumbledore said without looking up from the scroll of parchment he was bent over.

She did so as Fawkes ruffled his feathers and gave his mournful little cry. Marina brought from her pocket a small bag with a gaudy purple and gold tag that read “ _Waldo Walper’s Phoenix Feasts_ ” in large, shimmering letters, and she extracted one of the sooty black lumps. Fawkes flew over immediately, landing on the back of her chair and snapping up the treat at once.

“A delicacy from your place of employment, I presume?” Dumbledore said with amusement.

“Yeah we got them in just before Christmas,” Marina said, picking out a second lump and letting Fawkes take it from her palm. “They’re bloody expensive though, not many people have pet phoenixes. I had to use some mad employee discount to get them.”

“I do not consider Fawkes my pet,” Dumbledore said with a thoughtful smile as he watched Fawkes crane his head towards the bag in Marina’s other hand hopefully. “More my companion.”

“My bad,” Marina said with a lop-sided smile as she gave one last treat to Fawkes before stowing away the bag. “He’s very cute though.” Fawkes pressed his beak against her face and cawed again.

“He had been in a particularly good mood as of late,” Dumbledore mused, “though Tom might disagree with your assessment – only last week Fawkes regurgitated a wad of undigested plant remains into his lap.”

Marina laughed out loud – the image of Fawkes throwing up what was effectively a hairball on portentous Riddle was just too good. “Thanks for that, sir,” she sniggered, shaking her head. “That’s cheered me right up.”

“You’re very welcome,” Dumbledore said, his smile reaching his eyes. “Now, I wish to discuss Tom’s upcoming Horcrux recovery.”

“Right, yes,” Marina said seriously. “The ring, huh? He wants to visit his dad?”

“He does,” Dumbledore nodded, “and I must say that I am impressed at his suggestion. Hufflepuff’s cup would be more difficult logistically – considering its concealment in the Lestrange vault – but it would be significantly easier emotionally. His determination does not go unnoticed.”

“Good,” Marina said firmly, feeling a sense of deep satisfaction. It was very gratifying to hear Dumbledore finally acknowledging that Riddle was doing something right.

“However, he has also levied me with… a surprising request,” Dumbledore continued slowly. “He has asked that I accompany him to visit his father, rather than yourself.”

Marina stared. It was one thing for Riddle to ask McGonagall to go with him to talk to Myrtle, but for him to turn to Dumbledore?

“Oh,” she managed to say in a horribly strangled voice.

“You feel as I felt,” Dumbledore said gravely. “It is not Tom’s typical preference of company.”

“No,” said Marina. Fawkes gave a concerned wail in her ear, obviously noticing the shift in the mood of the room. She reached up and patted his head absent-mindedly.

“Perhaps once I would have suspected that Tom wished to take advantage of this situation, hence his request,” Dumbledore was saying, “but now I believe his motivations are elsewhere. I think that Tom has grown… embarrassed.”

“Sorry?” Marina gaped.

“You must understand, Marina,” Dumbledore said, “understanding the gravity of Voldemort’s actions does not only allow Tom to reclaim whatever fragment of his soul he has found. It is changing how he views himself, and how he feels about others. I myself only came to realise the extent of this change upon his return from visiting Miss Warren – after Minerva told me of his request that she accompany him, we came to the conclusion that perhaps Tom did not want you to see a side of his past that gave him great shame.”

“Shame,” Marina repeated weakly.

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “It is my belief that Tom has grown ashamed of his past, and of Voldemort’s actions.”

“I mean,” Marina swallowed, “I suppose that’s a good thing, right?”

Dumbledore watched her a moment. “It is,” he said softly. “Tom should be ashamed of this facet of his past. And you should know, as he does, that when the time comes Tom must face the appropriate consequences for his release of the Basilisk on his fellow students, and for Miss Warren's death."

Marina nodded, feeling hollow but knowing it was right.

Dumbledore continued. "That being said, Tom must also learn that trusting others means that you must allow them to see the parts of yourself of which you are ashamed.”

Much like Fawkes into Riddle’s lap, Marina’s brain regurgitated the phrase ‘ _if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known’_ unsolicited into her consciousness, and she held back the bizarre, stress-induced urge to laugh.

“So, what are you going to do?” Marina said, fighting down her out-of-place response.

“I thought that I would ask for your opinion,” Dumbledore said genially, resting his hands together before him.

For the second time in their conversation, Marina was flummoxed. “Alright,” she said, astonished. “Well – I suppose I think you’re right,” she began slowly, “I mean, the part about him needing to trust people. But –” Marina hesitated, unsure how to phrase her feelings. “Riddle does do this a lot, push people I mean. I get that it’s for a different reason this time, but it’s also not normal for people to have, like, endless patience and energy when you deliberately distance yourself all the time,” she said. “I guess what I’m saying is that if he chooses to push me away, I’m not going to force him to come back again. Doesn’t that set sort of a false standard for what he could expect from people?”

“Interesting point,” Dumbledore nodded. “You are referring to Tom learning to take personal responsibility for the consequences his actions have on his relationships.”

“Yeah,” Marina said, relieved that he understood. “that’s a much better way of saying it.”

“Are you saying that we should allow him to distance himself from you? That you are happy with my accompanying him to Little Hangleton?” Dumbledore asked, assessing her.

Marina frowned. “I mean, it does suck a bit,” she mumbled. “I thought he’d want me to come, considering everything. But I guess it’s his choice, right?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said pensively. “If that is the case, I will inform Tom that he and I will leave for Little Hangleton tomorrow. Though, I feel it is only right that I discuss this with him first. He may change his mind, and it is only fair that he remains informed…”

But Marina had stopped listening – she had realised with a sickening jolt that Dumbledore probably didn’t know that the ring was also the Resurrection Stone. She wrestled with the decision to say something, her silent conflict not going unnoticed.

“Is everything alright, Marina?” Dumbledore asked curiously, mistaking her evident turmoil as indecision.

“Oh, yes,” she said distractedly. “Sorry, I was thinking of… something else.” She shut her mouth, unsure if it was the right decision. Whilst Dumbledore himself had urged her to keep as much information as she could about their world to herself, the realisation that he might still attempt to put on the ring and curse himself swirled in her chest. Would she be responsible for his death if she knew of the effects of the ring and said nothing? The thought pushed her over the edge.

“Sir,” she said slowly, “about the ring…”

“If you are intending to give me advice relating to future events, I must ask you to desist,” Dumbledore said, as astute as he was firm.

“But sir –”

“I think it best that you consider this world like a train, and each timeline like tracks leading to its destination,” Dumbledore interrupted, leaning back. “Your arrival here has turned a switch bringing us to a different set of tracks, but we are ultimately heading in the same direction. If you offer too much about our future, it will not so much change where we are going as it will derail the train.”

There was a long pause as Marina considered what he’d said. “Are you saying that the events I read about will all happen anyway?” she asked, slightly horrified.

“I cannot be sure. I think it evident that some things, at least, have been irreversibly altered,” Dumbledore said, brow creasing in thought, “but it uncertain which are concrete and which are fluid, and that is exactly why you must keep those things to yourself. We must not fall into the trap of trying to avoid anything unpleasant from happening – some things, no matter how difficult, must come to pass.” He gave her a significant look over his spectacles and Marina nodded, throat feeling tight. She wondered wildly if he somehow knew that she’d been intending to warn him of his death, or if that was too much for even Dumbledore’s capabilities.

Dumbledore smiled. “I believe that I am correct in that assessment of our situation, and – forgive me – I have rather a lot of faith in my assessments.”

“I know,” Marina said wryly. “Well, if that’s the case I guess all I can say is – be careful.”

“I will,” he nodded, “and thank you for your input, it was most helpful.”

“Well, thanks for asking for it,” she replied, smiling back. Fawkes flapped his wings and Marina felt heat radiate off of him as he soared back to his stand.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

At around two in the afternoon the following day, Marina was crouched by the door of the Magical Menagerie with a lump of bloody steak in one hand and a long Augury feather in the other. Her calves were screaming to move as she forced her body to stay perfectly still, eyes fixed on the ginger furry face that sat motionless under the very edge the Puffskein cage before her.

“Come on,” she whispered softly, “come out, here, look at the nice juicy steak…”

The huge yellow eyes did not blink, but Marina saw a single paw extend towards her as if its owner were moving to take a step. Her heart leapt but she resisted the urge to outwardly react.

“That’s it… just a bit closer…” she coaxed, waving the feather slightly. Another paw extended, and the hint of the furry face inched into the light.

The bell above the door jangled loudly as it burst open and Crookshanks bolted back under the Puffskein cage with a loud yowl.

“Fuck!” Marina exclaimed, leaping to her feet before realising that a customer had just entered. “Oh, I –”

“Do you ever have a quiet day at work?” Riddle asked disapprovingly, looking at the raw lump of meat that was dripping blood down her wrist towards the rolled up sleeve of her Weasley jumper.

Marina stared at him a second, taken aback by his unexpected appearance - he was dressed in Muggle garb again which she assumed meant his journey to visit his father was still going ahead, but that hardly explained his presence.

“I was trying to get our eldest resident to come out and socialise a bit – but you’ve foiled my efforts,” she said in mock melodrama as she dropped the hunk of meat into the Clabbert enclosure – the three monkey-like lizards descended upon it and tore it apart in an instant. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to Little Hangleton with Dumbledore now?” she cast a glance over at the clock, confused.

“Yes,” Riddle said, looking at the feasting Clabberts with some interest. “Actually, that’s why I’m here.”

Marina walked towards the backroom and gestured for him to follow her as she made her way to the sink and rinsed the blood off her hands. “Alright then, what’s up?”

“Would you –” he paused. “Dumbledore’s outside,” he said quickly.

“Okay,” said Marina as she dried her hands, giving him a curious look.

“He’s waiting to take me to Little Hangleton,” Riddle continued.

“That’s good of him,” she mused with a decent amount of sarcasm.

Riddle stared at her, but Marina didn’t budge. She was fairly sure that he was trying to ask her to come after all, but she wasn’t going to do the work for him. She let the towel down on the bench and turned to face him, crossing her arms patiently.

“So?” Riddle said, gesturing to the door behind them.

“So what?” Marina asked sweetly.

He rolled his eyes. “Are you coming or not?” he said, irritated.

“I think that’s about as close as I’m going to get to an invitation, isn’t it,” she said, sighing. “Give me a minute, I’ll let Verna know.”

“Dumbledore’s already talked to her,” Riddle said, having the decency to look halfway embarrassed.

“You made some assumptions about how this conversation would go, huh,” Marina said dryly. “Alright then, let’s get going,” she waved her hands at him and shook her head disparagingly. He gave a slight smile as they made their way to the door. Before they could reach it there was another loud yowl and Marina only saw a flash of bright orange fur before Crookshanks landed on Riddle and began tearing at his jacket with vicious claws.

“CROOKSHANKS!” Marina yelled. Riddle was frantically trying to push him off, but every time he put his hands too close, Crookshanks closed his teeth around them and Riddle was forced to retreat.

Marina dashed back the way they’d come, seized the towel, and sprinted to Riddle as she threw it over Crookshanks’ body, wrenching the cat off him and heaving the yowling, writhing bundle over to the backroom. She placed the towel down as gently as she could and quickly shut the door to stop a repeat attack.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Marina gasped, turning to check on Riddle. “Are you alri –”

There was a very recognisable clatter as something fell from Riddle’s torn pocket to the floor of the shop and rolled towards her. Marina stared at the wand that came to a stop just before her feet.

“What is that?” she asked in a deathly quiet voice.

Riddle was not permitted to have a wand. It was one of the rules on which Dumbledore continued to insist, even more so now that Riddle was independent from the diary. He may have earned a degree of trust in the Order’s eyes, but they still had their cautions, which, she thought brutally as she stared at the wand, were evidently well warranted.

“Nothing,” Riddle said immediately, with an uncharacteristically bad attempt at nonchalance.

“Where did you get that?” Marina breathed.

Riddle didn’t reply. He was looking between Marina and the wand looking like a deer trapped in headlights.

The bell above the door chimed as someone entered and without thinking, Marina pushed the wand under the cages to her side with her foot just in time as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance dressed in an eye-catching turquoise three-piece.

“Is everything alright? I heard a commotion…” Dumbledore said, trailing off as he assessed Riddle’s state of tatters and the palpable tension in the room.

Riddle looked back at Marina with blatant fear in his eyes, knowing that in that moment she had the ability to destroy any faith Dumbledore had in him for good. Marina’s heart was beating hard, half from the leftover adrenaline from Crookshanks’ attack, and half from her mind reeling at Riddle’s betrayal of their trust.

“We’re fine,” Marina said coolly, not looking at Riddle. “One of our residents took a disliking to Riddle.” She seized her bag from behind the counter and walked past him without acknowledgement. She opened the door and held it pointedly as she waited for them both to leave - at least this way, Riddle had no chance to pick up the wand again.

Riddle moved first, passing her onto the street without managing to catch her eye. Dumbledore gave her a quizzical look as he exited but she just shook her head stiffly. Luckily, he didn’t press it, perhaps assuming that she was just upset about Riddle flip-flopping around on his decision to take her with him to Little Hangleton.

They made their way out of Diagon Alley in silence, making good time as they arrived at the station and boarded a Muggle train. They took seats in a quiet section of the train, and Marina resolutely drew a book from her bag and set about pretending to read it. Her head was spinning – Riddle’s underhand acquisition of a wand had so many connotations that she didn’t want to have to consider, but the thoughts were coming thick and fast. Had he intended to use the wand on Dumbledore? On his father? On her, since he’d obviously changed his mind and asked her to come? Was it just for self-protection? Did he not expect to be caught? Why ask Dumbledore to join him if he was going to try something so stupid? Anger and betrayal writhed in her chest at his disregard of the rules he’d been dealt, the jeopardisation of a hard-earned budding trust between Riddle and the others, a trust that she’d bent over backwards trying to encourage.

A long hour passed, and Riddle wisely did not try to talk to her. Breaking the silence, Dumbledore stood and shuffled into the aisle.

“Excuse me,” said Dumbledore with a wan smile. “I must find the restroom, much to my chagrin if what I have heard about Muggle trains is to be believed…” he strolled off down the train with a light grimace.

“Thank you,” Riddle said quietly, the moment he was out of earshot.

Marina shot a sharp glare at him. “Don’t thank me,” she said icily, “how dare you force me to make that choice! You made me lie to cover your ass –”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, looking indignant.

“I did have to!” Marina whispered harshly. “If I’d said something, Dumbledore would probably give up on this whole bloody plan, wouldn’t he!”

“That’s why I’m thanking you,” he said shortly.

“What the hell were you doing with that thing anyway?” she scowled. “What were you planning on doing with it?”

He fixed her with a stony glare and looked away without replying.

Marina gave a short sigh of frustration. “Listen, I get that things are tense right now, but you have got to tell me.”

He continued to glower at the scenery speeding past their window, but Marina thought she noticed some other emotion seeping up underneath. She took a deep breath and held it a few seconds before speaking again. “Put it this way,” she said, aiming for a slightly more light-hearted tone, “I can’t get any more pissed off at you than I am already, so telling me will either change nothing or make things better.”

Riddle finally looked back at her. “I thought –” he began before cutting himself off and frowning. “I’m good at magic,” he said like it was a caveat, “I wanted to bring the wand in case my father –” but whatever he wanted to say wasn’t coming to him easily, and he stared at the floor with an evident cacophony of emotion on his face.

“What about your father?” Marina prompted gently, trying to get him back on track.

“He left my mother after finding out that she was a witch,” Riddle said flatly. “He was scared of magic – I thought that if I could show him what I could do, he wouldn’t be afraid that I was a wizard.”

The explanation seemed to hang in the air between them. Marina tried her best to believe it like she would have if he’d told her a few hours earlier before she’d known about his betrayal of their trust – but something had changed. A distinctly Dumbledore-esque voice in her head was asking questions about how legitimate he was being, if he was just telling her what she wanted to hear to stop her from suspecting him.

“You don’t believe me,” Riddle said in a horribly even voice, his eyes on her face.

“I – I want to,” she said, frowning with conflict. “But if you’re going around with a wand that you shouldn’t have, that you were keeping a secret… it’s a little harder to take what you say at face value after something like that.”

“I’m not lying,” he said in the same tone, “why else would I have the wand?”

She looked at him, the answer on her face before she had the chance to hide it.

“You think I intended to attack him?” Riddle asked, eyes narrowing. “You think that after all this, I’d throw everything away and carry on like nothing has changed?”

“No, I just –”

But before she could say more, Dumbledore reappeared at the end of the aisle and quickly approaching. Marina sat back in her chair and fell silent.

“That was just as bad as I’d been led to believe it would be,” Dumbledore said bracingly as he sat. He didn’t comment on the way that Riddle and Marina were resolutely refusing to look at each other, or the tense silence that permeated the remainder of the train ride.

By the time they arrived at Little Hangleton a bus and a taxi later, Marina was exhausted already. The atmosphere hadn’t relented their whole journey, and she’d not had a chance to talk to Riddle in private again. Dumbledore was leading them through the small, sleepy looking village with long, energetic strides whilst Riddle and her trailed behind, half jogging to keep up with his brisk pace.

“Listen,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’d just go off on a murderous rampage or anything, but –”

“You once said to me that a wizard without a wand is useless,” Riddle breathed, eyes fixed on Dumbledore ahead of them. “I don’t see what is so egregious about my wanting a wand.”

“It’s not about you having a wand or not, Riddle,” Marina said fervently, “it’s about the fact that you promised Dumbledore that you wouldn’t have one!”

“Perhaps I broke that promise,” Riddle allowed, his voice sullen, “but Dumbledore was never going to change his mind.”

“You could have asked,” Marina muttered, but she knew he was right. Dumbledore’s trust was slow to extend and quick to retreat – even with Riddle’s reasoning, she too doubted that he would have relented.

“My father already has enough reasons to refuse to talk to me, forgive me for wanting to assuage one of them,” said Riddle, bitterly.

Marina stared, taken aback. Riddle, noticing her expression, gave her a horribly knowing look. "Did you think that I was still unaware of the circumstances of my parentage?” he asked, looking back at Dumbledore with a tight expression. “That my mother used magic to take away his will? That he never consented to have a child, let alone run away with her?”

She could say nothing. They trekked after Dumbledore for a long, silent moment before Riddle spoke again. “I would not be surprised if he turns me away at the door, he has every right to,” he said quietly.

“He might,” Marina said, grabbing Riddle’s arm to stop him. “Riddle – look at me.”

He did, his lips pressed together and his eyes wild.

“He might,” she repeated gently. “But if he does, that is not a measurement of your worth. Your father had something horrible and unfathomable happen to him, but you’re not inherently bad because of it. Since we met you’ve been working to change yourself – to get better! You did that yourself – not because you were born good or bad, but because you made the right choices.”

Riddle’s expression was still wild, but he let out a breath through his nose like he was letting some wall inside of him fall. “I want him to speak with me,” Riddle whispered, like he was afraid to admit it. “I’ve been thinking about this meeting since the beginning – back then I wanted to show him what I could do to make him regret his decision to leave me –” he paused, eyes unseeing as he was lost in his thoughts, “– but now… I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know if my mere presence will remind him of what my mother stole from him, or if he will see me for my own merits, or if he will simply not care.”

Marina could say nothing – Riddle was dealing with something that she could never understand. Instead, she placed her hand on his arm and squeezed, hoping that it conveyed her feelings better than anything she could say. Somehow she felt like Riddle wasn’t the hugging type. 

“Dumbledore’s waiting,” he said under his breath, jerking his head to the side.

Marina looked to see Dumbledore patiently waiting ahead of them on the road, pleasantly looking around the country scenery as he gave them time to talk. She felt a rush of appreciation for him.

“Let’s go then,” she said, giving Riddle a bracing look.

He nodded, lingering a moment longer before turning back to Dumbledore and continued up the path.

Ahead of them, nearly obscured amongst the trees on the side of the road, Marina began to make out a run down, overgrown shack. The former ancestral home of the Gaunt family was slowly drawing into view.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Extra quick update to make up for the fact that the last chapter was late 😬  
>  °•. ✿ .•° 


	23. Into the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: Blood, discussions of non-consent._  
>  °•. ✿ .•° 

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **DUMBLEDORE DREW HIS** wand and threw out an arm to stop them in their tracks.

“Do not move,” he said, calmly but firmly. “There is dark magic here.”

He was staring firmly ahead at the Gaunt shack with narrowed eyes, his wand seemed to twitch in his outstretched hand and Marina realised that he must be engaged in some unseen battle with whatever defences Voldemort had shrouded over the ruin of his ancestral home.

A second later Marina saw something – with a delicate pop like the sound of a glowstick cracking, a fissure appeared in mid-air in front of Dumbledore’s wand. Dumbledore flicked his wand and the fissure spread with long, reaching fractures through an unseeing barrier around the shack. With a shattering sound, whatever had surrounded the Gaunt house disintegrated into invisible shards, but still Dumbledore did not lower his wand. He proceeded forward slowly, wand outstretched in caution. If he was suspicious of Riddle, Marina thought, she couldn’t imagine how he felt about Voldemort.

Her and Riddle followed him as he approached the ruin, and Marina saw the tell-tale skeletal remains of the snake that had been hammered above the door now lying scattered around the entrance. They stepped over the bones and pushed through the half-hanging door.

Inside, the shack was a mess. Cobwebs and leaves littered the corners, and the boarded windows let in slivers of reluctant sunlight that did little to dispel the neglected, decaying feeling of the room.

“It’s hidden here somewhere,” Marina muttered, holding her hand to her nose against the thick dust on the air. “It’s protected – be careful.”

Dumbledore nodded and his wand slashed through the air. Whatever spells he cast had no visible effect, and Marina turned her attention to Riddle as Dumbledore’s search continued.

Riddle was looking around the Gaunt house with a detached disgust. He had not entered much further than the edge of the threshold, as if coming in any further would immerse him in the unpleasant reality of the place.

“So, this is the end of Slytherin’s legacy,” he said softly, eyes falling on the grimy table heaped with ancient rusted pots and what might have once been food but was now little more than the dusty remains of the mould that had consumed it. 

“The Gaunts were blind,” Marina said, joining him in his censorious assessment. “They refused to look past their own blood, they didn’t change even as the world around them did.”

“I suppose you think them typical wizards, then,” Riddle said, looking at the emaciated remains of an armchair near the empty hearth. Soot-stains overflowed up the walls around it.

“No,” Marina said frowning, forcing down a sneeze, “typical of the worst kind of wizard, perhaps.”

“I have something,” Dumbledore said softly, wand poised above the floor in the middle of the room.

It was enough to entice Riddle past the threshold. Dumbledore flicked his wand and the floorboards cracked inwards as if an invisible boulder had been dropped on them. With another swift motion, Dumbledore dispelled the boards to the corner of the room and a small alcove beneath the floor was revealed. They leaned forward to see a glittering golden box sitting in the middle of the concavity, squat and wide, and very ornate.

Dumbledore gingerly levitated the box from the hole and set it down on the edge of the overflowing table. The lid slowly lifted – the interior was set with plush forest green velvet, and in the middle sat the heavy looking golden ring with its strange black stone almost clumsily set into the metal. The box, and the ring inside, had an opulence that jarred ominously with its derelict surroundings. 

“Don’t put it on,” Marina said without thinking as Riddle slowly reached for the ring.

Dumbledore gave her a sharp look and she raised her hands defensively. “I’m not trying to unveil the future or anything,” she said, shrugging, “that’s just good advice – don’t put on the scary evil ring in the scary abandoned ruin, right?”

“I won’t put it on,” Riddle said disparagingly, sounding near to rolling his eyes. 

He returned his attention to the ring and gently moved to pick it up from its plush setting. The second his fingertips brushed it, he jerked back like he’d been burnt.

Both Marina and Dumbledore moved towards him in an instant.

“Are you alright?” Marina asked quickly as Dumbledore raised his wand towards the ring.

“I’m fine,” Riddle muttered, eyes fixed on the ring. “It just showed me… what happened,” he finished flatly. He grit his teeth and went for the ring again, his motions significantly more assertive. Pushing through whatever visions appeared to him, Riddle shoved the ring callously into his pocket and turned towards the door.

“Let’s go,” he said sourly, not sparing the room a second look as he left.

Marina shared a look with Dumbledore and saw her own apprehension reflected in his face. They followed Riddle from the ruin to find him already making his way back towards the road. He didn’t look back once.

They hurried after him and began their short trek towards the old Riddle house, a huge looming silhouette on the hill behind the village. The manor was set behind a sprawling, well-kept garden with trimmed hedges and weedless flower beds – Marina remembered the Muggle groundskeeper who Voldemort murdered in the series and felt her face go tight. She had always hated the beginning of the fourth movie, hated reading about Frank Bryce’s murder ever since she’d first read the Goblet of Fire as a small child.

They continued on, drawing closer and closer to the huge, ivy-covered manor and its dull windows. They stopped at its door, and Riddle stared impassively up at its impressive façade in silence.

“Tom,” Dumbledore said gently.

Riddle turned to him, expressionless.

“This is no small task to undertake,” said Dumbledore, looking over his spectacles at Riddle. “You should not feel ashamed for being nervous, or afraid.”

Riddle simply pursed his lips like he was holding back his true reaction.

“Your father may not have been a parent to you, but considering his circumstances, that does not make him a bad person,” Dumbledore continued softly.

“I know,” Riddle said shortly, looking up at the house behind them. “I don’t think he’s a bad person.” There was a pause as Riddle hesitated. “But…” he said, near whisper.

Suddenly he turned to Dumbledore swiftly, his expression agitated. “Is it so wrong to wish that he had waited to meet me?” he said loudly. “To have reached out for me during my years at the orphanage? What would have become of me if not for Hogwarts?”

“It is not wrong to wish it,” Dumbledore replied, ever calm. “But it is wrong to judge him for not doing so. You cannot blame your father for your mother’s actions - she robbed him of his choice in becoming a father.”

“I know!” Riddle said again, angrily. “I don’t expect him to have taken me in! But not once did he try to find me, not once did he even attempt to find out if I had survived –”

“Tom,” Dumbledore interrupted firmly. “It is imperative that you understand this. Your father awoke one day unable to explain why he had run away from his home, abandoned his family and friends, eloped with a stranger whom he did not love, and fathered a child with that stranger. Regardless if Merope used a love potion or the Imperius curse to force him to do so, your father will have clear memories of these actions and no explanation for why he did them seemingly of his own volition.”

Dumbledore took a step towards Tom before continuing. “His decision to return to his life and attempt to pretend like this monstrous violation of his autonomy did not occur does not reflect on you, it reflects on his desire to overcome the traumatic and incomprehensible crime committed against him.”

Riddle had gone very still. “And I am the result of that crime,” he said, his voice not so much calm as it was empty.

“You are proof that one’s parentage does not have to inform one’s life,” Dumbledore said quietly, “should they be given the means to make the right choices.”

“The right choices?” Riddle repeated, mouth twisting unpleasantly. “That is hardly how I would describe my history, Dumbledore.”

“Until quite recently I did not believe that you had the capability to change, Tom,” Dumbledore said, frankly. “I can see now that perhaps I was merely reluctant to accept that I failed in my responsibility to help you make those choices.”

Riddle looked taken aback despite himself.

Taking advantage of his silence, Dumbledore withdrew from his pocket the familiar year-logged timeturner with its gently orbiting planets and silver fluid entrapped within its glass.

Dumbledore turned to Marina and she stepped forward as if he’d beckoned her.

“We have yet to discuss your decision regarding your memories,” Dumbledore said softly as he laced the timeturner chain around her neck.

“We can talk when I’m back,” Marina said, managing a small smile. “There are other things to worry about right now.”

Dumbledore gave a slow nod. “Do you have Fawkes’ feather?”

Marina was horrified. “No,” she admitted, looking up at him guiltily. “I left it in my room.”

“No matter,” said Dumbledore reassuringly as he looped the chain over Riddle’s head. “I will be waiting here for your return.”

He stepped back, giving them a bracing smile. “Good luck,” he said sincerely.

“Thanks,” breathed Marina, nerves erupting in her stomach.

Riddle looked down at Marina. “Forty-nine turns,” he said quietly.

She nodded and took in a deep breath. During their last journey, the exertion of the timeturner had nearly rendered her incapable of completing all the turns. Riddle noticed her hesitation.

“Would you like me to do it?” he asked, frowning.

“I’ll be fine,” she said with determination. “Just – make sure I don’t fall, alright?”

He nodded. Marina apprehensively took the small dial between her fingers and gave Dumbledore one last look.

“See you soon, sir,” she said with an uneven smile.

“Remember, I have every faith in you,” Dumbledore said. Though he smiled, his eyes were serious and clear.

She nodded and turned the dial. Dumbledore was consumed by angry orange clouds and Marina felt her hair swirling around as the sharp winds buffeted them. Almost immediately did the dull grey encroach the borders of her vision, and each turn seemed it coax it out further and further. After only ten turns what little Marina could see was spinning so violently that her eyes gave out and flickered up into her sockets. She immediately felt Riddle’s fingers close around the dial as her hand slipped away, and he continued the turns.

Marina grabbed Riddle’s arm and tried to avoid being pulled backwards by the dizzying force as they hurtled backwards through time. It seemed to go on for hours. Marina felt something painful and hot curling in her stomach and she gasped at the pain, resisting the urge to curl forward lest she break the timeturner’s chain. A metallic taste spread through her mouth and her ears seemed thick with liquid, her pulse thundering in her head as finally, _finally_ the world stopped spinning and they both toppled onto the green lawn of Riddle manor.

For a long moment they both lay there, breathing heavily as the orange clouds disappeared in an instant and a cool, bright winter sun innocently looked down upon them from a blank, ice blue sky.

Riddle pulled the chain off his neck and sat up. “I felt it that time,” he said shakily, looking down at his trembling fingers.

“Poor you,” Marina said with good-natured sarcasm as she wiped away the trickle of blood leaking from her nose.

Riddle pushed himself to his feet and offered her his hand. She took it with her non-bloodied hand, and he pulled her up. The second she was standing, the dizziness returned along with the sharp pain in her stomach that made her wince and cry out involuntarily. Marina keeled over as something rose in her throat and she vomited bright red blood over the manicured flower bed beside Riddle manor’s large front door.

“Marina,” Riddle said alarmed.

“I’m okay,” she choked, holding up a hand towards him where she leaned. “I’m alright, I feel better now.” She wiped blood off her mouth and shakily pushed herself upright.

“You don’t look good,” he said apprehensively as he looked at her. “Your lips are blue.”

“Are they?” she frowned, reaching to touch them.

“We better get inside,” Riddle said, looking at the door. “Perhaps they could help.”

“Yes, bound to have a cure for time sickness in there,” said Marina with a weak attempt at humour. Something told her that her blood-stained chin ruined her delivery.

“Come on,” Riddle said, not even bothering to look disapproving at her ill-timed joke. He took her arm and helped her towards the door, having to half-lift her up each step as her vision swam again.

He knocked curtly on the door, and shortly afterwards it swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman with bright red hair, a round, wrinkled face, and a lumpy, prominent nose. She was dressed like an old-fashioned servant, down to the white apron and headdress. Before the woman had even glanced towards Marina’s slightly crumpled form, she took one look at Riddle, shrieked, and slammed the door in his face. Sounds of movement and raised voices erupted within.

“That’s a good start,” Marina said, giving Riddle a side-eyed look.

“You don’t have to make jokes, you know,” he said sharply, “it’s not distracting me from how sick you are, or how serious this is.”

Marina didn’t reply. She was a little lost for words at his frank response.

The door opened again, and Marina stared at the man before them. He looked exactly like Riddle – tall, black hair, dark blue eyes, and high, prominent cheekbones, though he was clearly older with the hint of a 5 o’clock shadow and creases around his eyes and mouth. He was dressed smartly in an expensive looking suit and his shoes were pitch black and shiny, and he was looking at Riddle with an almost fearful expression. Both seemed too captivated by the other to move.

Marina couldn’t help it – she felt more blood rising from her stomach and had to turn and brace herself on the side of the house as it forced its way up her throat and out her mouth, thick and metallic.

“What in God’s name –” Tom Riddle Senior exclaimed, finally noticing her.

“She’s sick,” Riddle said bluntly, “can we come in?”

“I – I –” Riddle Senior stuttered.

“I’m fine,” Marina gasped, standing again. “Honestly, I feel better –”

“Will you stop it,” Riddle snapped. He turned to his father. “We won’t stay long if you don’t want us to,” he said in a low, pressing voice. “Just – please give us a moment to rest before we go.”

Riddle Senior stared at his son with wide eyes. He glanced at Marina, the corners of his mouth turning down as he stood to the side and waved them inside. Riddle immediately seized Marina around the shoulders and guided her into the house.

“Over there,” Riddle Senior said weakly, pointing to the left through a tall set of wooden doors that opened up into what looked like a bright sitting room. “On the couch – er – Marjorie!”

As Riddle shepherded Marina into the room, the servant woman appeared at once from where she had been eavesdropping behind the staircase. “Yes, sir?”

“The dust sheets…” was all Riddle Senior said as he cast an aspersing eye at Marina’s blood-run face.

“Of course, sir,” Marjorie said, disappearing into a closet before emerging with a huge blank sheet. She bustled past Riddle and Marina, spreading the sheet across the beautiful blue and yellow embroidered settee before Marina had a chance to sit.

Marina didn’t mind – she collapsed onto the covered couch with relief as she let her weight slump to the side and held her head in her hand. She caught a glimpse of Riddle’s tense expression as he crouched before her.

“If I had a wand, perhaps I could help you,” he said pointedly, under his breath.

She scoffed tiredly. “You have some nerve, Riddle,” she said, squinting against the bright sun streaming through the tall, velvet-curtained windows.

Marjorie had vanished and Marina could hear her and Riddle Senior whispering in low, rapid voices in the hallway outside the room.

“Are you alright?” Marina asked Riddle quietly.

He slowly took a seat beside her. “Yes,” he said evenly. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Marina said wearily, looking down at her purpling fingernails. “I honestly feel fine now.”

Riddle gave her a disbelieving look but didn’t press her. He turned his attention over his shoulder towards the man. “He looks like me,” said Riddle, almost thoughtfully.

“He does,” Marina nodded. “Reckon he knows who you are?”

“He’s got to,” Riddle muttered. “The way that woman reacted – I think it’s fairly evident.”

Before Marina could reply, Riddle Senior entered the room and slowly took a seat on the matching settee opposite them and crossed one of his long legs over the other in a vague attempt at ease.

“So,” he cleared his throat, not quite meeting either Riddle’s or Marina’s eyes. “I, er, I suppose I knew this day would come.”

He looked deeply uncomfortable, and Marina suddenly felt very guilty at having sprung this upon the man. 

“What is your name then, boy?” Riddle Senior asked, transparently feigning a sporting attitude.

“Tom,” Riddle said flatly.

Riddle Senior looked flummoxed. “Oh,” he said weakly. “She – she named you after…” he trailed off, eyes going distant.

“Yes,” Riddle said, more carefully, “and Marvolo, for her father.”

“Excellent, excellent…” Riddle Senior said, looking around the room vacantly. “Er, Marjorie!”

Marina would have readily believed that Marjorie was a witch herself given how quickly she appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, sir?”

“Tea might be nice,” Riddle Senior said in an airy voice. “And – for the girl – a cloth, perhaps.”

“Right away, sir,” said Marjorie, curtseying before she left the room, casting a long, curious look at Riddle as she went.

“So,” Riddle Senior said again, loudly. “I suppose you came to talk then.”

“If you like,” said Riddle, looking cautious.

“How did you find me?” Riddle Senior asked, his voice betraying his nerves.

Riddle hesitated for an almost imperceptible second, and Marina’s heart lurched as she realised that they hadn’t come up with an alibi.

“My mother told the orphanage your name, they provided me with your address,” Riddle said smoothly, not a hint of the falsehood on his face.

Riddle Senior nodded acceptingly, not having reacted to the mentioning of an orphanage. “And your mother, she…?” Both his voice and his gaze trailed off again.

“She’s dead,” Riddle said, jaw tightening. “She died giving birth to me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Riddle Senior said in a voice so quiet that Marina had to focus to hear it. “Well,” said Riddle Senior much more loudly, slapping one hand on his knee. “I’m sure you were happy to approach the manor – not every orphan finds out his father’s well to do, does he!” He gave a strange, overly loud laugh.

Riddle’s hesitation was noticeable this time. “I am not here for money,” he said, voice slow and precise. “I have no intention to collect anything from you.”

“Of course not,” Riddle Senior gave a gaudy wink. “I see straight through you, my boy!” He gave the same loud laugh, and Marina wondered if he was acting so strangely because of the stress.

Riddle caught her eye and she wondered how subtly she could give a shrug before Riddle Senior spoke again.

“Who’s this then?” he asked, smiling blandly at Marina.

“She works at the orphanage,” Riddle lied seamlessly, looking back at his father. “She helped me find my way here.”

“Well-behaved boy, is he?” Riddle Senior asked her, examining at the shine on his own shoe.

There was a strangled silence as Marina’s addled mind wrestled with the question. “Yes,” she managed to say, trying to keep in pace with Riddle’s effortless alibi. “He’s –”

“How old are you, then, Tom?” Riddle Senior interrupted, ignoring her and looking back at Riddle.

Marina stared. She was beginning to dislike Riddle Senior.

“I’m sixteen,” Riddle said quickly. “I turn seventeen next Tuesday.”

That broke Marina from her thoughts - she’d totally forgotten about his birthday.

“Counting the days until you turn eighteen like all the young boys these days?” Riddle Senior was saying blithely to the room. “Wanting to join the army?”

It was Riddle’s turn to stare. Luckily Marjorie chose that moment to re-enter the room with a large silver tray laden Riddle was saved from having to reply. Marjorie sat down the shining tray upon the burnished low wooden table between them and handed Marina a warm, damp cloth. Marina pressed the cloth to her face and was startled by how much blood came away – she must look ghastly.

“Milk? Sugar?” she distantly heard Marjorie ask Riddle.

“Both for her,” Riddle said quietly as she continued to wipe the blood off her mouth. “Just lemon for me, thank you.”

Marina’s attention was caught as the woman lifted the lid to a sugar bowl filled with glittering white cubes next to the the little golden plate of perfectly uniform lemon slices. Something about them seemed off. It came to her a moment later – to have such luxuries in the middle of wartime England would have cost the Riddles a fortune. Or they were circumnavigating the rationing rules, Marina thought suspiciously.

Marjorie handed them their drinks and all three of them held them in silence whilst the servant woman fussed with the tray, delaying her exit from the room as she continued to glance at Riddle before finally leaving.

“Your grandparents are not at home, regrettably,” Riddle Senior said as he sipped his tea, his hand visibly trembling. “Though I will inform them of your little visit.” He gave a weak, fleeting smile.

Marina lowered the towel from her face. “When will they be back?” she asked curiously, “we can wait –”

“No, no,” Riddle Senior said loudly, not looking at her, “that’s quite alright, they are very busy people after all – no telling how long they will be.”

“Of course,” Riddle said mechanically, “we wouldn’t wish to impose.” He gave Marina a pointed look and she let it drop immediately.

“Have you been to meet the Gaunts? What’s-his-name down there, Murphey? No, something strange isn’t it, Mallow? Miffy?” Riddle Senior said, not sounding very interested.

“Morfin,” Marina supplied, eyes downturned. Things were not going well.

“That’s it, Morfin – odd fellow,” said Riddle Senior, “he would be your uncle, wouldn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Riddle stiffly. “We are yet to meet him.”

“Always very strange, that family,” Riddle Senior said in a hollow, whispery voice, his eyes unfocused. “All of them were. I don’t suppose…” he fixed Riddle with a suspicious, fearful expression. “Can you – that is to say – are you… like her?”

Riddle’s entire body was taut with tension, but his face betrayed none of his feelings. “Yes,” he said again, somehow managing to sound completely at ease.

Riddle Senior nodded, his eyes on Riddle like he was a stranger’s dog and he didn’t know whether it would bite.

Marina’s stomach curled in pain again and she jerked reflexively - Riddle looked over at once. Before she could say anything to mitigate his questioning stare, she felt something hot pool in her eyes and run down her cheeks like tears.

“Good God,” Riddle Senior breathed, sounding horrified. “What have you done to her?”

“I haven’t done anything,” Riddle said sounding agitated, some of his composition cracking at the accusation as he watched Marina press the towel to her cheeks. It came away red – she was crying blood.

“Riddle, what’s happening?” Marina asked fearfully as the hot trickle continued to leak from her eyes. An inky purple was pooling across her hands and she watched aghast as it seemed to curl under her skin up her arms like tendrils of ink in water.

“We have done this too many times,” Riddle breathed, watching the discolouration spread. “We should get you back.”

“But –” Marina glanced at Riddle’s father.

“Don’t worry about that,” Riddle said tersely as he stood and pulled her up by the arms. He looked towards his father as he guided Marina towards the door. “We’ll be going now,” he said curtly.

“Yes, yes!” Riddle Senior said, standing. Marina couldn’t see him but he sounded terrified, his voice wavering as he continued. “Take her to a hospital at once!”

“I will,” Riddle replied firmly. “And –”

He hesitated. There was a loaded silence.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he finished civilly.

“Of course,” Riddle Senior breathed.

Riddle nodded and steered Marina back into the wooden panelled entrance room and out the large, still open doors. The gravel crunched under their feet as they sped down the path before the house, and Marina saw little red circles splattering upon the rocks as they went.

She felt her own face and her hand came away slick with blood. She stared at it, surprised with the volume. “I’m bleeding,” she said numbly.

“I know,” Riddle said tensely, casting a glance back over his shoulder towards the manor. “But they’re still watching, so we can’t leave yet.”

Marina nodded, the motion making her vision waver and she closed her eyes. “What do you mean leave?” she said, frowning, “the Horcrux, you haven’t –”

“We can handle that another time,” Riddle interrupted, speeding his pace as Marina felt a tickling in her ear and she realised that she was bleeding there, too. “Right now, we need to get you back to Dumbledore.” They were just passing the end of the path and Riddle turned to hurry towards the small wooded area where they would be invisible from the manor.

“I’m sorry,” Marina said distantly, stumbling as the dizziness grew. “You should have brought Dumbledore. I ruined your meeting –”

“Don't be stupid,” Riddle said curtly as he let her lean against a tree. “Where’s the timeturner?”

Marina pulled it with clumsy fingers from under her jumper and Riddle took it at once, dipping his head as he looped it around his own neck.

“Wait,” Marina said urgently, before he could press the button.

“What?” he asked irritably.

“Are you sure about this?” she said, trying to focus on his face. “What if we can’t come back? What if –”

“Marina,” he interrupted, “you are going to die if we don’t get you to St Mungo’s, do you understand that?”

As if to demonstrate his point, the same hot pain roiled under her skin and Marina cried out as her hand went to her stomach, tugging up her sweater to see what was happening. They both stared. As they watched, cherry red stains blossomed up to the surface of her skin, immediately freezing in place and turning purple, then green, then a sickly yellow, only to be replaced by another surge of red. It was as if her body were bleeding and bruising on some impossibly fast pace.

“What…” she whispered, tears budding and stinging as they mixed with blood, turning her vision mottled pink. She looked up at Riddle, feeling terror rise.

His gaze lifted from her bruising skin to her eyes, and she was not encouraged by the panic that she saw there. Before he could react, her balance gave out and she collapsed limply. The timeturner chain, still looped over both of their necks, snapped with a delicate chime as she fell.

“No!” Riddle yelled, catching her by the arm to stop her from hitting the ground as his other hand scrambled for the falling timeturner. He let her down as gently as he could and was kneeling, staring horrified at the broken chain in his hands.

“I can’t fix it,” he said hollowly. “I don’t have – I can’t –”

Marina moaned as the pain mounted again. Her head felt light and her body felt borderless, her hands and feet felt cold. She pressed her hands to her face to try to ground herself, but it was so wet with blood that she jerked away, revolted.

Riddle didn’t hesitate – he threw one arm around Marina’s shoulders and pressed the button on the timeturner with his other hand.

At once they were hurtling through the angry orange storm of the timeturner, the gut-wrenching sensation of centrifugal force pulling at Marina’s already twisting stomach and making her cry out. The spells on the timeturner that had once kept them somewhat together had been broken, and the force was pulling them apart as they spun through the raging, roiling clouds.

She felt herself slipping.

“Tom!” she shouted as his grasp on her shoulders weakened. He tried to hold her jumper, but she was pulled from his grip and he grabbed at her arm instead. They caught hands but they were so slick with blood that neither could hold on properly.

“Marina!” he yelled over the deafening roar of the storm. He shoved the timeturner into his pocket and was trying frantically to grab her other flailing hand, struggling to find purchase on her bloody skin.

“Tom!” she cried again, terror pulsing through her as the clouds pressed in on her from all sides. The spinning did not relent, and all at once their grip on each other finally failed.

For one moment, elongated by the adrenaline and fear, Marina saw Riddle’s face contorted with fear and his still outstretched hands red with her blood. Then the moment was gone, and there was only chaos as she was flung into the storm of the flickering timestream.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Y'all knew this had to break bad eventually, right?  
>  Also: Just a note on the discussions about Tom's dad. I was very cautious about writing this part, obviously it deals with some very sensitive and serious topics that also have real world implications. I did quite a lot of reading about it beforehand to try to make sure I covered it both accurately and sensitively. I didn't want anyone to think that I took it lightly.   
>  If you'd like that reading list (I mostly focused on articles around children conceived from non-consensual unions, forced pregnancies through sabotaging contraception, and reproductive autonomy) just message me and I am happy to send you the sources.   
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	24. The Disappearance

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **WAKING UP IN** a hospital bed was becoming a routine affair for Marina. Her body seemed to fade back into reality like she was being slowly lifted from a deep sea of unconsciousness, her thoughts going first and foremost to the horrible dryness in her mouth and her gritty, sleep-stuck eyes.

Immediately, something was noticeably different. There was a sound that was both familiar and out of place – the even beeping of a heart monitor. St Mungo’s definitely didn’t use heart monitors.

Someone was talking, she could hear them over the sounds of her heart beeping away despite everything. She tried to pry her eyes open but they wouldn’t cooperate, and it only took a second to realise that they had been taped down like she’d seen on videos of people coming out of surgeries after being put under anaesthesia.

The voices swelled to a crest, then all of a sudden there was a flash of bright light and whoever had been talking fell silent. A second later there was a stinging pain in her hand and her throat felt funny, and then her stomach twisted with a swooping, sinking feeling that she could recognise anywhere – she was being Apparated. She tried desperately to cling to consciousness as she felt herself fading but it was too late, and she sunk beneath the waves again.

Although she couldn’t tell for sure, it felt like a long time until Marina woke again. There was no beeping this time, no reassurance from that steady, tenacious heartbeat – but there were more voices. Slowly the dull deafness in her ears began to lift and soon she could make out what they were saying.

“… in a Muggle hospital, they had no idea what to do with her of course, had all of these ghastly tubes in her...

“And Healer Harpis found her?”

“Yes, on one of her inspections. More and more magical ailments ending up in Muggle hospitals these days, you know, considering…”

“No wand?”

“None.”

“Can’t have been… them… could it?”

“I don’t see how a group of thugs could have given someone such a serious case of time sickness.”

Marina stirred, and the voices immediately ceased their conversation.

“Rennervate!” one of them said.

With a soft swell of red light, alertness coursed through Marina and she gasped as her eyes flew open. Two Healers were on either side of her bed, both in their lime-green robes and wands in hand. The first of them – an older woman with deep brown skin and a serious face, her greying hair in a circular braid on her head – turned Marina’s face towards her and pointed her wand at her eyes.

“I know you must be confused,” the Healer said, “but I need you to stay still, do you understand?”

Marina nodded, still breathing heavily. It felt strange, raggedy and wheezing like the time she’d had bronchitis.

The Healer began muttering incantations and watching Marina’s eyes very closely. Her accomplice, a middle-aged man with pitch black hair and a handsome face had produced a glass of familiar looking liquid – the same silvery green liquid with little purple bubbles that Madam Pomfrey had given her all those months ago. As he held it to her lips, Marina drank it without question. The acrid taste washed through her mouth and she instantly felt tingles spreading through her body, congregating at her fingers and feet like she’d had a numbness that was beginning to dissipate.

“My name is Healer Jin,” he said as he helped her drink, “this is Healer Buckthorn,” he nodded towards the older woman who still had her wand pointed between Marina’s eyes in deep concentration. “You’re at St Mungo’s Hospital, we’re here to help you,” he gave a small smile and Marina reflexively smiled back. He had a very calming presence. He tilted the glass again and Marina obediently took another gulp of the horrible tasting potion, pushing back a grimace.

“Can you tell me your name?” Healer Jin asked as he took away the glass.

Marina tried to answer but her throat felt strange, like the air wouldn’t grip on her voice box and no sound would come out. She tried again, but all that came out was a croaking noise.

Healer Jin poised his own wand over her throat and muttered, “Epistrofi Fonis.”

Coolness spread across Marina’s throat like she’d swallowed very icy water and she coughed at the sensation. “Marina,” she whispered weakly.

“Where’s your wand, Marina?” Healer Jin frowned.

“I don’t have one,” she croaked, “I’m a Muggle.”

The two Healers shared a glance as Marina slowly pushing herself up onto her forearms.

For the first time, she was able to properly see her surroundings. It was unlike any ward in St Mungo’s that she’d seen before. The most immediate difference was the crowding – the ward was absolutely packed. Beds were pushed as close to each other as they could go, but it was still insufficient to accommodate everyone. Patients were sitting in chairs, milling in the corners of the room, even lying on the floor on thin blankets. Healers were rushing through the hoards looking haggard and overworked, their eyes frantic and their mouths set in hard, resolute lines.

The second difference was the room itself. The room had no windows, only dim yellow lanterns hanging from wooden beams on the low ceiling. Periodic showers of dust came from the ceiling as if there was heavy foot traffic on the floor above.

Marina swallowed hard. Something was very wrong.

“Is there someone we can contact for you? A family member, perhaps?” asked Healer Jin with his reassuring smile.

Instead of making her feel better, it just made her suspicious as to why she needed reassuring. “I – I suppose Dumbledore.” Marina frowned.

The Healers shared another look.

“The Hogwarts Headmaster?” asked Healer Buckthorn slowly.

“Yeah,” said Marina distractedly, watching a Healer levitate a limp, bruised man past her bed.

“Can you tell me what year it is, Marina?” said Healer Buckthorn in a curious voice.

“Last time I checked, it was 1991,” said Marina, looking back at her as the limp man disappeared into the crowded ward.

The two Healers were silent for a long, unsettling moment.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Albus Dumbledore is dead,” Healer Buckthorn said quietly.

Marina’s mind went still.

“What year is it?” she whispered.

“It's 1997,” Healer Jin said gently. “You’ve been gone six years.”

Healer Buckhorn leaned over her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Try not to panic, we can explain every –”

“The war,” Marina breathed. She looked up into Healer Buckthorn’s concerned, dark eyes. “The war, did it happen?”

But she already knew the answer. The ward around her was proof enough.

“Yes,” the Healer said, frowning. “How did you –”

But Marina had stopped listening. Despair coiled around her and consumed her every thought. She tried to comprehend it, the amount of time she’d lost. Dumbledore’s words from the previous day came back to her – though with a heavy sinking feeling, she realised that they had been spoken more than half a decade ago now. He had said that this world was a train on its tracks, and all she’d done was switch the tracks. Was this the destination? Did all tracks lead to the war? How much had she really changed?

The questions started flooding in thick and fast. Had it all been for nothing? What could have possibly happened whilst she’d been gone? What had happened when Riddle had arrived back with Dumbledore with her blood on his hands and the Horcrux still in his pocket? Had it all been undone in that moment, or had the following months degraded their relationship without her persistent insistence that they try to trust each other?

The thought of Riddle’s secret wand returned, and Marina felt like she was falling. Had he taken his first chance to escape back to Voldemort?

Distantly she was aware that the Healers were trying to talk to her, but she was numb to their efforts. Something deep inside her had fractured and her hope was leaking out, spilling into places she couldn’t see and dribbling away as she lay there staring at the war-torn ward.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

A gruelling week passed. Marina felt removed from the havoc of the ward, its ever shifting and constantly tense atmosphere hung on her like a thick fog and she was blind inside of it. New patients came in an endless stream and very few seemed to leave fully recovered.

On her second day, Healer Jin told her that when the war had broken out, the Healers at St Mungo’s had quickly realised that their hospital was not immune to Voldemort’s reach. Death Eaters and Snatchers prowled the corridors of the hospital, hunting for those who they considered unworthy of magical medicine. Determined to treat all who needed help, the Healers had charmed an old hospital basement into a ward for Muggle-borns and ‘blood traitors,’ as well as Muggles like Marina who had gotten caught up in the wrong side of the war. The Healers smuggled in patients, worked extra shifts in secret to provide them with care, and scoured Muggle hospitals for those who had ended up there with magical maladies.

Healer Jin had vanished that night. When Marina had asked Healer Buckthorn about him the next morning, her eyes had gone tight and her lips went thin.

“They took him,” was all she would say.

There was nothing more that Marina could get out of her.

The other Healers had continued to try to contact someone for Marina, but she had been unable to provide a name that didn’t explicitly appear on the list of people most suspected by the Ministry of Magic to be aiding the fugitive Harry Potter. The truth was that Marina didn’t have anybody – if things had gone as they had in the books, Moody was already dead, Remus was on the run, McGonagall was under the eye of the Carrows at Hogwarts, and the Weasleys were on a Ministry watchlist. And Riddle… Marina couldn’t even begin to consider where Riddle could be.

Grief overcame her. Dumbledore was dead and the Second Wizarding War raged on around them as if she’d never tried to stop it at all. The days passed in long, faded hours, completely indistinguishable from each other. Her hazed stupor was only broken one night by Healer Buckthorn’s sudden arrival, her illuminated wand breaking the muggy darkness of the crowded, sleeping ward.

“Marina,” she said in an urgent whisper. “You must get up, someone is here to take you.”

“Who?” Marina asked dully. Her eyes strained against the wand light, but she felt nothing else. The numbness that had engulfed her was thick and impenetrable.

“You mentioned the Weasleys when you first arrived,” said Healer Buckthorn, hastily helping her sit up and coaxing her as quickly and as gently as she could. Now was clearly not the time for explanations.

Expressionless, Marina nodded and stood on shaky legs. She allowed Healer Buckthorn to guide her past the long rows of sleeping patients, stepping over those who rested on the floor and trying – with only partial success – to avoid bumping into anyone.

They exited the ward and climbed a narrow set of stairs to a long hallway. Healer Buckthorn led her as quickly as she could to its far end where a simple floor-length mirror with an unremarkable wooden frame was hanging on the wooden panelled wall. Lit by the Healer’s wand, Marina saw her own reflection for the first time since she’d arrived in 1997.

She barely recognised herself. Her hair was limp and tangled, her face gaunt and her eyes with deep shadows like black bruises beneath them. She had lost weight in a sickly, frightening sort of way, and dark purple stains swallowed her forearms and a good portion of her lower legs as well. The worst was her eyes. Hollow and flat, it was as if everything that made Marina herself had been carved out from within and her eyes revealed the blankness that had been left behind.

Healer Buckthorn approached the mirror without slowing down. Marina passively allowed herself to be guided towards it, and at the last second, they easily stepped through the glass and out into the familiar entrance chamber of St Mungo’s. Marina glanced behind them to see herself in an identical mirror hanging unobtrusively on the wall, hiding in plain sight.

“Buckthorn,” a low voice whispered. There was a figure waiting impatiently by the door to the hospital, staying out of the way of the scant few Healers in the chamber making their way to the various wards and duties.

“We’re here,” Healer Buckthorn replied lowly, hurrying towards the figure.

“Finally,” said the man, sounding exhausted. “I’ve had to hide from two Snatcher patrols already.”

The light from Healer Buckthorn’s wand fell upon a man with a shock of red hair that was ever so slightly greying, and a kind but tense face.

“My apologies, Weasley,” the Healer whispered, looking around the chamber nervously. “I’ve got to get back, do you have it from here?”

“Yes, I’m sure we’ll manage,” said Arthur Weasley, looking down at Marina and giving her a tired smile. “I suppose you know who I am then?”

Marina nodded but Healer Buckthorn gave a tense exclamation.

“This is not the time for introductions,” she said urgently, allowing Arthur to take hold of Marina’s arms and bear her unstable weight. “Get home as fast as you can – they usually come through the wards around this time.”

“Alright,” Mr Weasley said, nodding seriously. “Thank you, Buckthorn, give my best to your wife and daughter.”

Healer Buckthorn gave a tight nod and left before Marina could say a thank you or a goodbye.

“Let’s go,” said Mr Weasley, quickly leading her out the door and into the cold street.

The chilly air nipped at Marina’s bare feet and exposed arms. She shivered, goosebumps erupting over her skin.

“Don’t worry,” Mr Weasley said lowly as they sped down the dark London street. “We’ll be home soon – the Portkey’s just around the corner.”

“Not Apparating?” Marina asked hoarsely. The cold air felt hard in her throat and she stifled a cough.

“The Ministry is monitoring my wand,” he said darkly, “they’ll know when and where I Apparate, don’t want them asking questions…”

He trailed off, and two blocks later they turned a sharp right and approached a derelict-looking street food stall that was lying on its side on the footpath. Bottles of sauce, plastic cutlery, and plastic bags of bread had spilled across the concrete, and Mr Weasley stepped over these without a second glance as he rummaged through the metal cabinet of the upturned stall.

“Here,” he said breathlessly, pulling out a regular-looking fry basket. No sooner had he picked it up did it begin to shake, and Mr Weasley shot Marina an urgent look.

“Quickly now!” he said, “grab it!”

She thrust her hand forward and seized the fry basket just in time. The world twisted around them and there was a sharp tug in Marina’s stomach not unlike Apparating, before the two of them tumbled onto a cold, dewy green lawn.

“Up, quickly!” Mr Weasley said immediately, rolling to his feet and grabbing Marina by the shoulders. “They sometimes watch the house!”

Bending low, he hurried Marina forward and she stumbled along beside him, barely able to see. The field where they’d arrived was pitch black, the nearly full moon somehow doing little to light their way. Marina stumbled half-blindly across the rises and dips in the field and barely noticed when they began making their way through a large orchard, the oranging leaves of the trees just barely beginning to shed.

Finally, a tall, surreal house appeared directly before them. Marina glimpsed the stone walls of the ground level and the rickety wooden structures piled upon it in an increasingly wonky lean as the house stretched up above her, and the cluster of chimneys puffing clouds of pale smoke against the black starry sky. Before she could properly take it in, Mr Weasley was bundling her through the back door and shut it firmly behind her, wand tightly in hand as he peered out the small window behind them.

“Can’t see anything,” he breathed, not loosening his grip on his wand. “Better give it a few more moments –”

“Marina!” a voice gasped.

Marina turned. There, in the dimly lit, cluttered kitchen, was Mrs Weasley. She was much changed since Marina had last seen her. She too had lost weight, and her face was uncharacteristically pinched. Grey streaked her hair, and her eyes were tired and dark. The war had taken its toll on her.

“Mrs Weasley,” Marina said weakly. The long beaten-down desire to cry was threatening to bubble up at the feeling of safety that her familiar face brought about.

“Come here, my dear,” Mrs Weasley whispered, holding out her arms and looking close to tears herself.

Marina took the few shaky steps towards her and leaned into her hug. As she stood there in the safety of Mrs Weasley’s comforting arms, she felt her last defenses fall and the tears spilled out. The confusion, the shock, the monstrous reality of the war finally hit her, and it was a long time before she could bear to lean away from Mrs Weasley’s hug and face conversation again.

“Let’s sit down,” Mrs Weasley said gently when Marina finally gained control over her breathing. “We’ll get a nice hot cup of tea into you and talk things over. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

Mr Weasley was long since gone. Mrs Weasley explained that he had work early the next morning and needed to get what little sleep the night could afford him. Marina took a seat in the cosy, crowded lounge, guilt twisting in her stomach as she realised that coming to pick her up had costed Mr Weasley the majority of his night when he had to go face the Ministry of Magic the very next day. She edged as close to the softly crackling fireplace and pulled up the quilted blanket that Mrs Weasley had draped over her shoulders.

“There we are,” Mrs Weasley said, handing her a very wide-brimmed earthenware mug of tea and sitting down in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace with her own cup. “Now,” she said, voice turning more serious, “where should we start?”

“How did you know that I was at St Mungo’s?” Marina rasped, wrapping her purple fingers around the warm mug.

“One of the Healers has a cousin who works in the Ministry,” Mrs Weasley said, “word spread amongst our allies that there was a Muggle woman with a bad case of time sickness in the St Mungo’s hidden ward.” She smiled as she took a sip of tea. “It was a safe bet to assume that it was you, especially after how you disappeared.”

Marina frowned, eyes on the floor unfocused. “So – I just vanished? For six years?”

Mrs Weasley nodded. “We assumed that you had been thrown into another time, but there was always the chance that you might not have gone too far and that we might see you again, so we all kept our eyes and ears open. Though recent events made us consider… other possibilities.”

“What do you mean?” Marina asked curiously.

Mrs Weasley took a long sip of her tea, and Marina noticed that she wasn’t quite meeting her eyes.

“Mrs Weasley,” said Marina, lowering her own mug. “What happened? Whilst I was gone?”

Mrs Weasley sighed and closed her eyes tiredly, her hand coming up to rub her temple. “It has been a long six years, Marina,” she said, “the last few of them have been… particularly long.”

“Tell me what happened,” Marina whispered.

Mrs Weasley nodded, looking stricken. “When you first vanished, things were… difficult. At first, Dumbledore suspected that perhaps Tom had been part of it, that he’d orchestrated it somehow.”

This didn’t surprise Marina in the slightest.

“Of course, Tom’s biggest defense was the state that he arrived in,” Mrs Weasley continued.

“Covered in my blood?” Marina asked dubiously.

“No, that once he returned, he healed the Horcrux,” said Mrs Weasley, “Dumbledore told us that Tom was beginning to understand the full impact of You-Know-Who’s actions, beyond the effect they had on the victim themselves.” She hesitated, like she was unsure of how to phrase her next words. “Dumbledore said,” she continued slowly, “that even though Tom had struggled to empathise with his father, he was remorseful that you’d had to pay the price for what he did.”

“Riddle took on the Horcrux because he felt guilty about what happened to me?” Marina asked, confused.

Mrs Weasley nodded, but she looked apprehensive.

“Do you not think that’s what happened?” frowned Marina, watching her.

“Let me continue,” Mrs Weasley said, mirroring her frown. “Dumbledore was willing to work with Tom after that, they started looking for a way to track down the next Horcrux.”

“Hufflepuff’s cup,” Marina asserted.

“Yes,” said Mrs Weasley, “but it was more difficult than they had anticipated. After you stole the diary from the Malfoys, Lucius and Narcissa had increased their security measures everywhere. Breaking in was always going to be hard but it had been made impossible.”

“But,” Marina interrupted, “when I took the diary, I also took a hair from Narcissa! She’s Bellatrix’s sister, couldn’t they have used –”

“A Polyjuice potion would get them to the front desk,” Mrs Weasley sighed, “but the Malfoys had set up passwords and other checks to stop that very situation.”

“So, the cup’s still there?” Marina’s frown deepened.

“It’s still there,” Mrs Weasley nodded slowly.

“So what did they do then?”

“Dumbledore continued to look for ways to infiltrate the Lestrange Vault,” Mrs Weasley continued wearily. “And in the meantime, Tom began working at Ollivander’s.”

“The _wand shop_?” Marina couldn’t help interrupting again, gobsmacked.

“Not his first choice,” Mrs Weasley nodded, “but Ollivander was willing to take him on in spite of… or perhaps _because_ of his strange background.”

“You’re joking,” Marina shook her head. “Dumbledore banned Riddle from having a wand, and then let him work at _Ollivander’s_?”

“Many months had passed since your disappearance, at that point,” Mrs Weasley said wearily, “and Tom had been working closely with Dumbledore that whole time. I think… Dumbledore was beginning to…” she trailed off.

“Trust him?” prompted Marina sceptically.

“Dumbledore began to relax the rules on him,” Mrs Weasley said, sipping her tea. “And for the next few years, they continued to work together. They never discussed it with me, of course, but I think it's safe to say that they moved past Horcruxes. They would travel sometimes, off studying magic that I’m sure none of the rest of us could even begin to understand.”

They were both very powerful wizards, Marina supposed. Perhaps it made some strange sort of sense that once they had a sliver of trust for each other, they could push the boundaries of known magic together.

“After You-Know-Who returned, things changed,” Mrs Weasley said in a hushed voice.

“And – the Triwizard Tournament – that was still –?” Marina stammered.

“Yes,” nodded Mrs Weasley sadly, “once You-Know-Who was back, the old tensions between them seemed to return. Tom used to come here a lot, you know, before everything. He’d stay in Bill’s old room, always very polite, always tidy…” she trailed off again, eyes welling with tears. “That all stopped of course,” she said quietly, “Dumbledore was afraid that You-Know-Who would hear about Tom, that he’d try to reach him.”

“Mrs Weasley,” Marina said, coldness pooling in her stomach. “Where’s Riddle?”

Mrs Weasley fixed her with a sad look. “Things got worse once – once Dumbledore died,” she whispered. “The Order had always kept Tom a secret from Snape just to be safe, but we couldn’t be sure…”

Marina barely had time to process that Snape had still killed Dumbledore, and she forced her mind to resist running down that path and asking more about it, made herself stay focused on Riddle. “Where is he, Mrs Weasley?”

“When the Death Eaters kidnapped Ollivander last year, we were worried that he would tell You-Know-Who about Tom under torture,” Mrs Weasley said in a wavering voice.

“Did they take him? Is he with V – with You-Know-Who?”

The comforting warmth from Marina’s tea had leeched away, and the ceramic was now cold in her hands.

“And… and after they killed Moody,” Mrs Weasley whispered, barely audible, “when they attacked Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Tom… he…”

She was crying now, silent tears rolling down her weary face. “Tom disappeared, Marina.”

“Disappeared,” repeated Marina thickly.

Mrs Weasley nodded. “He was at the wedding, and then when the Death Eaters were gone, so was he. No one knows where he went, maybe they took him and maybe he… maybe he went with them.”

Marina felt the numbness creeping back in.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Thank you for all your comments!!! I absolutely love reading them, they genuinely make my day :)  
>  I hope you are all doing okay and keeping safe!  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	25. To Fight a War

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA AWOKE LATE** the next morning in a groggy haze, taking a long moment to recognise her surroundings. Sunlight poured in through the small window, the trees in the orchard below swaying gently in the morning breeze. She pushed herself from the bed and stretched, looking around Ginny Weasley’s bedroom with interest. There was a large poster of a strangely dressed band next to the window, and on the wall opposite the bed was a serious-looking athletic woman on a broomstick using the stout wooden bat in her hands to periodically smack away a brutal black ball that would hurtle at her from out of frame. Marina hadn't noticed any of it the previous night, she'd been much too tired and much too distracted to pay attention to her surroundings.

There were busy sounds creeping through the closed door from the floor below, and Marina pulled a patchwork blanket around her shoulders before making her way down the stairs into the bustling kitchen. Mrs Weasley had adorned a large white apron and was brandishing her wand at the multitudes of dough balls and bags of flour that littered every surface in the kitchen. Lumps of dough were shaking and kneading themselves as the flour flew everywhere, flinging itself around on its own accord.

“Oh, sorry Marina, dear,” Mrs Weasley said hastily as she jerked her wand at a particularly stubborn dough that was refusing to come unstuck from the bench, “we tend to have an early breakfast in this house – there’s some leftovers for you on the table over there.”

“Thanks,” Marina said, ducking under a bag of flour as she skirted around the chaos. “Er – what’s with all the bread?”

“It’s for the refugees,” Mrs Weasley puffed, waving her wand at a line of dough balls that sat waiting on the wooden kitchen table that immediately folded in on themselves. “We take it to Diagon Alley and pass it out every week we can.”

“Oh,” Marina said dully, sitting down at the table and looking at the plate before her. There was a single, small fried egg and a bit of bread with a lump of butter. Although she’d been hungry when she’d woken up, the reminder of the war had stolen her appetite.

“Eat up!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed as the dough balls folded themselves once more. “You’ve got to get your strength back!”

As Marina took small, slow bites at the bread, a stranger entered the kitchen from the garden door, throwing down a pair of muddy leather gloves on the bench as he did so

“No use, mum,” said the stranger, wiping sweat from his brow as he scooted behind Mrs Weasley and leaned against the kitchen bench. “Coop’s done for. Whoever stole those chickens did a right number on it, we’ll have to start charming it to keep thieves out – oh, hello.”

The stranger had finally noticed her. He looked about Marina’s age or a bit older and had the typical flaming red hair of a Weasley, though he was deeply tanned and covered in so many freckles that Marina couldn’t tell where freckle ended and tan began. He was the same height as Mrs Weasley and had a stocky, muscular build that gave Marina the impression that he did a lot of physical labour.

“Hi,” she said lamely, giving an awkward wave.

“I’m Charlie,” said the stranger, leaning forward with a friendly smile and offering Marina his hand.

She took it, surprised – it was very warm and very calloused.

“Marina,” she said, trying to smile back.

“So I’ve heard,” Charlie said, giving his mother a side eye as he leaned back on the bench. “The Muggle time traveller!”

“That’s me,” said Marina unenthusiastically, picking up her bread again.

“I hear you can tell the future, too,” Charlie said conspiratorially, not put off by Marina’s less than upbeat demeanour. “Do the Montrose Magpies ever get their heads out of the clouds and beat the Bats? I’m getting sick of owing Bill money –”

“Charlie!” Mrs Weasley admonished.

“Afraid I can’t help you there,” Marina smiled despite herself. “My knowledge is strictly limited to useless trivia, like how to get into the Hufflepuff common room.”

“And how _does_ one get into the Hufflepuff common room?” Charlie asked, grinning.

“You gotta tap the right barrel near the entrance to the kitchens,” she said, leaning forward in mock confidentiality, “if you get the wrong one, they’ll open and drench you in vinegar, so be careful.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Charlie said solemnly.

“Charlie,” Mrs Weasley said again, giving him a look. “The chickens?”

“Yeah, I’ll get started on a new coop,” he said, sighing. “Want to come? I could use a hand,” he said to Marina.

“Er –” Marina looked at Mrs Weasley, and down at the hospital gown she was still wearing beneath the blanket. “I – I don’t have –”

“You can borrow Ginny’s things for now,” Mrs Weasley said distractedly as she wrestled a lump of dough into two halves with her wand, flour going everywhere. “And if something doesn’t fit, I’m sure Charlie won’t mind lending you something.”

Twenty minutes later, Marina was dressed in an odd assortment of Weasley spares that made her look like she’d cut her outfit out of different magazines and glued it together. She had Ginny’s muddy old boots, Charlie’s old jeans folded up at the cuffs twice, Bill’s worn Ballycastle Bats shirt, and a battered Weasley jumper that was dotted with so many holes that it was impossible to tell who it had once belonged to.

“You look great,” said Charlie as he stifled laugh.

“Shut up,” Marina rolled her eyes with a smile, “I’ll go get some stuff from the shops in town – you guys live near a Muggle village, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a long walk though, can’t risk magical travel there,” said Charlie as he pushed the door open and held it for her to pass. “Mind you, I’d have you walk for hours if only to get that ruddy Bats shirt out of my sight…”

They trudged across the leaf-scattered grass towards a decrepit chicken coop that was lying in splintered parts in the corner of the yard. Chickens were roaming around the place looking confused, and there were feathers everywhere like they’d recently been in a scramble.

“Food’s tight everywhere right now,” Charlie said gravely as they approached the coop. “Someone snuck in and stole a bunch of the chooks last night, left the place looking like this.” He toed a piece of the old coop reproachfully.

“Why is food tight?” Marina asked curiously.

Charlie seized one of the splintered walls of the old coop and heaved it into his shoulder. “New regime blocks any Muggle-borns from buying and selling with wizard money,” he said as he walked the wall to the edge of the garden. “That includes all farmers, shopkeepers and importers” – he dropped the wall heavily against the wall that enclosed the property and made his way back to the ruin – “but apparently the Ministry didn’t make any preparations for the big gaping void that’d leave in the economy.” He shook his head disparagingly and seized another piece of the coop debris. 

Marina remembered the meagre breakfast and felt a bit guilty that she hadn’t eaten all of it. Resolving to finish everything on her plate from now on, she turned her attention to helping Charlie clear the old coop. 

“Not using magic?” Marina asked, picking up the crumpled span of chicken wire by her feet as she eyed the wand sticking out of Charlie’s pocket.

“Whoever broke in used a bunch of curses,” said Charlie, dragging debris towards their growing pile. “Levitation spells aren’t working, and it refused to be mended – I tried all morning. Gonna have to solve it the old-fashioned way,” he grinned. “That’s alright though, keeps us nice and strong!”

“You work with dragons, right?” Marina said, turning on a broad wooden beam that must have held up the roof of the coop. “You must be used to some hard work.”

He laughed, nodding like it was an understatement. “Dragons don’t much like magic,” said Charlie, smiling wryly, “and you’ve got to stay on your toes in case they decide they don’t much like you, either.”

“Why aren’t you in Romania, by the way?” asked Marina curiously, puffing a bit as she lifted the beam up across her shoulders. “Why’d you come home?”

Charlie grimaced. “You-Know-Who is big in Romania,” he said, darkly, “Mum was worried that I might get cornered by his supporters there, asked me home as soon as the Ministry fell.”

Marina let the beam fall heavily onto the pile and rolled out her shoulders. “The war has a pretty broad reach, huh,” she muttered.

Charlie eyed her suspiciously. “You don’t blame yourself, do you?” he asked perceptively. “For the war?”

Marina shot him a surprised look. “Why do you ask that?” she said, a bit too defensively.

“Mum told me about you,” he said, “about what happened in 1991.”

“Did she, now,” grumbled Marina, feeling uncomfortable as she resumed moving the debris. 

“The war’s not your fault, Marina,” Charlie said, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “It’s not anyone’s fault but You-Know-Who’s.”

“Easy for you to say,” she retorted sullenly, not meeting his eyes. “You weren’t magically sent into the past for the express purpose of stopping this shit from happening.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a big ask for one person?” Charlie said sarcastically.

“Does it matter?” Marina said sharply, pulling her shoulder from his hand to seize a large piece of debris. “I failed, didn’t I? We could have gotten all the Horcruxes! We could have taken out all his defenses! Stopped him before he even had a _chance_ to –”

“Taking out his Horcruxes wouldn’t kill him,” said Charlie reasonably, “you’d still have him to deal with, wouldn’t you? It’s the same –”

“It’s _not_ the same!” Marina shouted, throwing down the piece of wood. “I was supposed to _stop_ all of this! That’s the only reason I’m even here! Then all of a sudden I’ve lost _six bloody years_ and Riddle’s run off to be a Death Eater, Dumbledore’s dead, and You-Know-Who’s started a race war killing innocent people! And I should have stopped it!”

Tears erupted from her eyes and she fell into a crouch to hide them, letting her head hang down and her arms rest on her bent knees. Embarrassment was creeping in at her outburst at Charlie, and she suddenly realised that this was his first impression of her. Tears ran down her face as she stared at the cold grass, unable to look up at him.

Charlie let her be for a moment, allowing her sobs to diminish into slight sniffs before coming over and kneeling before her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, wiping her tears away with her sleeve. “That was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said patiently, replacing his hand on her shoulder. “You’d be hard pressed to find someone on our side not wondering if they could have done something to stop this from happening. Doesn’t mean that this is actually their fault though, does it?”

“It’s different for me,” Marina said gloomily. “I actually _could_ have done something to stop this from happening.”

“And what, it’s your fault that you were accidentally thrown into the future?” Charlie said humourously.

Marina considered this. “Well, _technically_ the only reason that happened was because I got sick and broke the time turner when I collapsed, so –”

“Unbelievable,” Charlie shook his head, “everything bad that happens within a ten-mile radius of you is directly your fault, huh?”

“Of course,” Marina said, a smile curling her lips inadvertently.

“Good to know, now I know who to blame next time some idiot breaks the chicken coop,” Charlie gave a lop-sided grin and offered her his hand.

She took it and he pulled her up.

“Listen,” he said, in a more serious tone. “What you said about Riddle –”

“I don’t want to talk about Riddle,” Marina said immediately, looking away.

“I just mean – we don’t _know_ that he ran off to become a Death Eater –”

“I appreciate it Charlie, I really do,” said Marina said quietly, “but let’s just get this coop built.”

He looked like he might say more, but instead he just nodded and withdrew his wand. After he had summoned a small pile of supplies, they set about constructing a new coop. The project took them into late afternoon, only pausing for a brief meagre lunch. Charlie did most of the more complicated work with magic, but he relied on his hands more than Marina had expected for a wizard. It seemed that both of them relished in the physical strain of the challenge.

By the time the sun was hanging low in the sky, they were both sweaty and red-faced as they attached the final stretch of chicken wire across the back wall of the new coop.

“Nice work,” Charlie huffed, raising his hand for a high five.

Marina slapped his hand with a grin. “You too,” she said, stretching her back. “Don’t forget to charm it, though, don’t think my spine could handle having to do this again tomorrow.”

“Right,” said Charlie, withdrawing his wand and throwing some charms towards their creation. He gave her a sly look. “Should I fire-proof it too, just in case?”

“Make it entirely dragon-proof,” Marina said as if it were obvious. “You can never know.”

They spent the next fifteen minutes coming up with increasingly unlikely circumstances in which the chicken coop might be endangered, finally cumulating in Mrs Weasley coming out to shout at them to get back inside as Charlie was charming the chicken coop to be impervious to lightning strikes.

“We forgot to give it a troll-repellent,” Charlie muttered as they followed Mrs Weasley indoors.

“Didn’t make it meteor-proof, either,” Marina grimaced dramatically. “We’ll be back out there in no time…”

“If you two are quite done,” Mrs Weasley said as she waved her wand at two large baskets by the door, “we have bread to deliver.”

The flaps of the baskets flicked open and the golden-brown loaves that covered the kitchen table diligently flew inside. They have must be charmed to be bigger inside because Marina couldn’t see how that many loaves could fit any other way.

“Let’s go, Charlie,” Mrs Weasley said busily as she picked up a basket.

“Aren’t I coming with you?” Marina asked, surprised.

“You’d best stay here, dear,” said Mrs Weasley, giving her still purple hands a concerned look. “You’re still recovering, after all.”

“I feel fine,” protested Marina. “Honestly, I can help!”

“We won’t be long,” Mrs Weasley replied, her tone ever so slightly firmer.

Marina realised that the decision was already made. She sat in one of the kitchen chairs, defeated. Charlie spared her a sympathetic look as he picked up the other basket and followed his mother towards the tall fireplace.

“See you in a bit,” he called with a slight smile.

Marina nodded dully, and then they had both vanished in a bright burst of green flames. The house instantly fell very quiet, and Marina looked around the floury kitchen despondently.

She was stranded once again. The gentle ticking of the strange, nine-handed clock on the wall with the faces of the Weasleys all hovering menacingly over “mortal peril” made a memory bubble up in her mind. Somewhere in the books, she remembered reading that after Voldemort’s rise Mrs Weasley had started carrying around the clock with her for fear of what would become of her family, with no way of knowing what was happening to them. Marina’s thoughts went to the war again, the fact that at that very moment, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were out there somewhere. Marina realised that just like Mrs Weasley, she had no way of contacting them, no way of knowing if they were safe, or where they were, or what they were doing.

Perhaps that was the real experience of war, she wondered, not the exciting battles and adventures that everyone liked to read about or watch on movies, but the hundreds and thousands of people stuck in their lives, always wondering if those they cared about were safe. The regular people who didn’t know what was coming next, trying to do what they could to help like baking bread for refugees, trying to fill their days with something to do like building chicken coops, unable to rest or relax, always alert, ever waiting for bad news.

She thought of Riddle, wondered where he was, what he was thinking at that very moment. Voldemort was untrusting, paranoid, and egotistical – would he have been self-congratulatory that his own Horcrux had managed to take on a life of its own? Or would he have seen Riddle as a threat, and killed him on the spot? There was no way of knowing, no avenue to investigate, no one she could ask –

Marina grit her teeth and consciously drove her attention elsewhere, eyes falling on a pile of laundry by the propped-open door to the scullery. If idleness led to thinking about Riddle, all she had to do was avoid being idle.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

As it turned out, what constituted a ‘long walk’ was very different for a wizard than for a Muggle. For all Charlie had said about Ottery St Catchpole being inconveniently far away, it was only a pleasant half hour stroll from the Burrow. After returning from town with some scant essentials, Marina had teased him for days about wizards’ lack of patience from being able to whizz around instantly whenever they wanted. She’d had to stop after he’d taken to cutting ahead of her on the stairs only to walk down them at a snail’s pace, giving her scandalous looks when she snapped and told him to get a move on and exclaiming dramatically that she was too impatient.

Days passed in a blur, each a repetition of its predecessor. Marina fell into the strange routine of the Burrow faster than she had thought possible, though she knew that the thanks belonged to Mrs Weasley. Charlie might be under Mrs Weasley’s watchful eye at home, but her other children were largely outside of her reach. Pairing that with the fact that her husband walked into the hornet's nest every morning, Mrs Weasley had become a veritable master of filling the long hours of her days to stop her thoughts from eating her alive. Marina only had to follow suit.

Marina dried clothes on the old-fashioned laundry mangle, ironed them with the magical ox-tongue iron that spat steam at her when she left it on the clothes too long, helped de-gnome the garden, pulled up carrots and potatoes for their dinner and planted new ones, cleaned flour from every nook and cranny in the kitchen, fed the chickens, learned to darn, cut firewood, caught fish in the lake behind the Burrow, and sprayed the lettuce patch for Flobberworms. They avoided doing chores alone and always kept the conversation going, lest the dreaded quiet and all it brought with it creep in.

At night after eating what they could scrape together for a dinner, Mrs Weasley, Charlie, and Marina spent an hour or two in the lounge with a cup of tea, trying to tune into Potterwatch to learn what they could about the war. The show didn’t run every night, but Mrs Weasley insisted on checking regardless and kept track of the passwords obsessively so that she wouldn't miss the next broadcast. After that, the three of them would collapse into their beds, expertly too exhausted for their minds to keep them up with torturous thoughts and the endless unknowing. Sometimes Marina would awaken hours after going to bed to the sounds of Mr Weasley arriving home from the Ministry. Mrs Weasley bitterly mused to her one day that they were giving him extra-long shifts as a covert punishment for being a ‘blood-traitor.’

It seemed a blink of an eye between September ending and Halloween arriving. Life before the Burrow was banished from Marina’s mind with absolute execution. Thinking about Riddle was the ultimate taboo, but she also relegated Dumbledore, Horcruxes, Moody, and the rest of the Order to the list of forbidden topics. Remus was at that moment on the run, and although Mrs Weasley had mentioned that he would try to visit if he could, she’d warned Marina against holding her breath to see him. He’d been labelled an Undesirable, and Remus wouldn’t want to risk endangering them any further considering that the Weasleys were already under close scrutiny by the Ministry.

In early November after the last of the purple faded from her nails, Marina was finally granted permission to accompany Mrs Weasley and Charlie to Diagon Alley to hand out bread.

They stepped out of the fireplace into the Leakey Cauldron, and Marina ducked her head a bit to let the hood of her cloak cover her face as they passed Tom the innkeeper.

“Mornin’ Molly, Charlie,” Tom called with even politeness, not making any mention of the third member of their party.

“Good morning,” Mrs Weasley said breezily, not stopping as they made their way through to Diagon Alley.

Marina held back a gasp as the familiar street opened up before her. The place was half-deserted, and those who did walk the streets had their cloaks pulled even lower over their faces than she did, moving with rapid determination and casting nervous looks around them. It was deathly quiet. Some shops had smashed windows and dark interiors, others had giant posters proclaiming their support for the Ministry plastered on their doors in a desperate attempt to avoid being ransacked, too.

“This way,” Mrs Weasley whispered to her, “quickly!”

The three of them hurried off down the street. As they passed the Magical Menagerie, Marina couldn’t help but peer out from under her hood - but the shutters had been firmly closed over its windows and the place looked abandoned. They made their way further into Diagon Alley, stopping beside a ransacked shop that Marina recognised with a swoop. It was Ollivander’s.

“Why are we here?” she murmured uncomfortably to Charlie.

“For them,” Charlie said quietly, nodding behind her.

Marina turned to see a small line of strangers emerging into the street from side alleys and abandoned store fronts, and beelining towards them with their robes pulled tight around their bodies. Their faces were gaunt and dirty, their hair stringy and their eyes wide and alert.

Mrs Weasley was pulling loaves from her basket and handing them to each person, casting surreptitious looks around the street as she did so. Charlie was doing the same, and gave Marina a little nudge, knocking her from her stupor. She looked down at her own basket and lifted its flap with trembling hands, pulling a loaf out and handing it to the nearest person, a young woman with large, fearful brown eyes and long, greasy curls that might have once been blonde. The woman took the bread immediately, giving Marina a quick nod before hurrying off and disappearing between two shops.

Marina pulled out another loaf and barely managed to extend her hand before a man took it and ripped it in half, handing it to the two small children in tow behind him. Marina went to give him another, but he shook his head.

“Keep it for them,” the man said gruffly, jerking his head at the growing crowd of hungry-looking people behind them before he grabbed his children by their hands and led them away with bowed heads.

A frantic ten minutes went by, and Marina could barely register her own actions as she passed out loaf after loaf to the never-ending stream of scared, starved people that had emerged for Mrs Weasley’s charity. All of a sudden Marina’s hand hit the bottom of the basket, and she looked up at the old woman waiting before her with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” stammered Marina, “I – I don’t have –”

The old woman’s expression hardened with disappointment, and she turned to leave before Marina could even finish.

“Let’s go home,” Charlie murmured beside her. “Mum wants to visit Fred and George, but we should get back.”

Marina nodded, feeling like her whole body was shaking. They were already back at the Burrow before she could really take in her surroundings again.

“That was…” she said hollowly, unable to finish.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, collapsing into an armchair looking exhausted. “You being sick wasn’t the only reason Mum tried to put off you coming with us.”

“Who are those people?” Marina whispered, sitting in the chair next to him and letting the basket drop to the floor.

“Mostly Muggle-borns who had their wands confiscated,” muttered Charlie, “but it varies. There’s Half-bloods who refused to give up their parents, witches and wizards who wouldn’t turn in their partners, Pure-bloods who spoke out against the Ministry…” he trailed off, looking grim.

“You do that every week?” asked Marina weakly.

“Got to do something, don’t we?” he said with the ghost of a smile. “Can’t just sit on our backsides and let Harry do everything for us.”

The two of them sat together for a moment longer, the weight of their trip heavy on their hearts. The immeasurable suffering Marina had seen had both dwarfed her own problems and inflated her deep-set feeling of guilt. There was no doubt in her mind that she was going with them again the following week – giving out the bread felt as much like a kindness as it did like an act of rebellion, like in the smallest way possible they were rejecting Voldemort’s disgusting blood-politics and trying to help those he had ruled to be worthless.

Marina blinked. Suddenly, it all made sense.

‘ _This is how they’re fighting the war,_ ’ Marina realised, looking at Charlie. ‘ _By being kind_.’

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  A quote I like sort of inspired this chapter: "In a world filled with evil, being a good person is an act of defiance."   
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	26. Unforgivable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: Torture._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **“SO YOU CAN** just listen to any song? Anywhere?” Charlie asked agape.

“Yeah, you pay a couple bucks a month and then you can go ahead and listen to your heart’s content,” Marina said, leaning her chin forward on his shoulder.

It was an unexpectedly warm afternoon about a week after their trip to Diagon Alley. Golden sunlight streamed onto the frost-bitten countryside, a brief respite from the ever-cooling winter air. They had covered every chore they could think of tackling – from checking on the moaning ghoul in the attic who was posing as Ron, to cutting so much firewood that the callouses that had been steadily growing on Marina’s hands had gone white with strain. When the afternoon had hit and Mrs Weasley was still finishing up the bread, Charlie and Marina had retreated to the field to distract themselves until it was time to go.

Charlie – who was giving Marina a piggy-back – started twisting his body side to side, using Marina’s feet to kick aside the grass in front of him. “Muggles come up with some crazy stuff,” he muttered, though he sounded impressed.

“I must say, I do miss Spotify a lot,” sighed Marina, watching the grass flow over her feet. “Honestly I just miss music a lot.”

“We have music,” Charlie protested.

Marina rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see her. “No offense, Charlie, but magical music sucks.”

“You’d say that,” he said accusatorily, “you didn’t grow up with it, did you?”

“True,” she conceded. 

“What did you grow up with?” he asked, meandering through the grass. “You don’t talk much about your past.”

Marina was quiet a moment. “No,” she said slowly. “That’s by design, though.”

“Sorry,” said Charlie, craning his neck to look at her apologetically.

“It’s alright,” she said, letting her head roll to the side lazily. “I just don’t like to think about it. That whole world, my childhood, my life… it’s all so far away now. It feels sort of self-flagellating to think about it, considering I’ll never get it back.”

“You might,” Charlie said quietly, “you never know. Maybe after the war, we could go figure something out.”

Marina gave a non-committal hum, looking out at the countryside before them. The sun was lowering before them, and a cool breeze blew the grass around making it ripple and rustle. Charlie had fallen silent, giving her time to think. She twisted her mouth, feeling conflicted – Charlie was her friend, and she was hardly taking her own advice if she held back from opening up to her friends just because it was difficult.

“My favourite subject in high school was history,” she said, not looking at him.

“Are you serious?” he said, grin audible.

“Yeah.”

“You’re a real nerd, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Marina smiled wryly.

“I hated history,” Charlie muttered. “Bloody Binns sitting there droning on all day… I’d much rather be outside.”

“A lot of people feel that way,” said Marina, “I think it’s because people have shite history teachers. You have to have someone that makes it come alive. After all – history is just stories... it’s like talking to people from the past,” she mused. “I fell in love with it."

"With talking to people from the past? You certainly do a lot more of that than your average person," said Charlie.

"No," Marina said wryly. "I mean, I fell in love with people's stories. It’s what made me major in anthropology at university.”

“Reckon you’d go back to that?” said Charlie. “You know, once this is all over?”

“No,” she said again, giving a short laugh. “The further up the ladder I got, the more isolated it became. Ended up spending more time at a desk reading about some obscure data set rather than being with actual people. I wanted to go study something else.”

“What?”

“Can you guess?” she smirked.

“Is ‘self-depreciating sarcastic twerpery’ a course they offer?” Charlie said, using her foot to smack away a large weed. “You’d excel.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to talk about my past,” Marina said, scandalised, “and this is what I get? Honestly…”

“I’m sorry,” he said smiling. “Just tell me.”

“No,” she said with false haughtiness. “You’ve squandered your chance.”

“Don’t be like that,” Charlie laughed.

“I’ll be however I want, thank you very much –”

“Marina!” Mrs Weasley yelled. “Charlie! Let’s go!”

Charlie turned and let Marina down. “Tell me when we’re back,” he said imploringly. “I promise I’ll only tease you at a diminished rate.”

“Gee,” she said sarcastically as they trekked towards the house. “What an offer…”

“It’s the best you’ll get,” Charlie grinned.

Marina shoved his shoulder in lieu of replying, and dodging his retaliation turned into a race back to the house. Inside, they breathlessly picked up their bread baskets and Marina pulled a cloak over her Muggle clothes.

“Ready?” Mrs Weasley asked her, reaching forward to fuss with the clasp of Marina’s cloak.

“Yup,” she replied with a tight smile.

“Alright then,” Mrs Weasley said, casting one last glance towards at her family’s faces on the clock – they all still hovered above ‘mortal peril’ unhelpfully – before making her way through the fireplace.

Marina followed Charlie through, keeping close as they made their way back through Diagon Alley towards the quiet, empty alcove where the skeleton of Ollivander’s store still stood.

“Be quick,” Mrs Weasley muttered as the first of the refugees began to approach. “Let’s not draw attention to ourselves.”

Marina nodded and began handing out loaves as quickly as she could. After the first few had seized their bread and scuttled away, there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere and the small crowd began to disperse frantically.

“Someone’s coming,” hissed Mrs Weasley, slamming the flap of her basket closed and gesturing for Marina and Charlie to do the same. “Stay quiet and keep your face covered!” 

Heart pounding, Marina ducked her head under her cloak and stepped behind Mrs Weasley with Charlie as a raucous group of darkly dressed strangers appeared from behind the corner of the street. They were walking too tall, speaking too loudly, and stood too relaxed to be regular patrons of the hushed shops – the only people who could afford to be so confident were those who contributed to the danger.

“’Ello ‘ello!” one of the men at the front jeered as they approached Mrs Weasley. “What’s this then!”

“Good afternoon,” Mrs Weasley said in a tight, even voice, not making eye contact. She had positioned herself in front of Charlie and Marina, her head tilted down but her shoulders wide and her posture fixed. Marina could imagine the firm set of her jaw.

“It’s the Weasley woman,” one of the group smirked. “And her spawn.”

Charlie shifted slightly beside Marina, tense and alert.

“Ah,” the man who had called out to them said, leering forward. “Arthur’s wife, is it? That Blood-traitor has poor taste in all walks of life, then.”

The group sniggered. From under the edge of Marina’s hood, she saw Mrs Weasley’s hands gripped the wicker handle of the basket tighter. “Just doing our shopping, gentlemen,” Mrs Weasley said slowly, the desire to defuse the situation thick in her voice.

“Is that right?” the man said in a whispery voice. “’Spose we can’t fault you that, even Blood-traitors got to eat, don’t they?”

He took a step closer to her, and Mrs Weasley drew back to keep the distance between them. Marina could only see the bottom of the man’s black robes and his shoes, but he lingered there for a moment as if pleased that Mrs Weasley had shrivelled under his scrutiny.

He gave an audible smirk. “Let’s go,” he said to his crew, sounding self-satisfied.

They pushed past Mrs Weasley hard enough to knock the basket from her hands, and they laughed loudly as she stooped to retrieve it. Their jeers and hoots continued down the street and when they had finally grown distant enough, Mrs Weasley turned to Marina and Charlie.

“Are you alright?” she asked, grasping at their cloaks attentively.

“Who were they?” Marina muttered, casting a discerning look at the departing gang from under the edge of her hood. Her hair fell down obscuring her line of sight and she pushed it behind her ear.

“Snatchers,” said Mrs Weasley, her mouth in a grim line. “Best not look, dear, they’ll take any chance they can get to –”

“Hold on a second!”

The words reverberated down the street, and Marina froze. Before her, Mrs Weasley had done the same, her eyes wide and fearful as her grip on Marina’s cloak tightened. The same man was coming back down the street with slow steps that echoed on the stones beneath his feet, growing louder as he came nearer and nearer. All too soon he was right beside Marina, standing uncomfortably close.

“Hold on a second,” he said again, voice dangerously quiet. “Now I could have sworn you Weasleys was all gingers,” he said softly, a hand coming up and seizing Marina’s hood, tugging it back with a swift motion to reveal her blonde hair. “So what’s this then?”

Marina didn’t dare look at him, her eyes fixed on the ruin of Ollivander’s in terror.

“She’s –” Mrs Weasley began, but she didn’t get to finish.

With a flash of yellow light Mrs Weasley was thrown backwards, and Charlie cried out in anger as he shot forward to throw an arm around his mother, his other hand going to his pocket. The man trained his wand at Charlie immediately. “Don’t try anythin’, Blood-traitor,” he spat, “or your father will be down here identifyin’ the bodies.”

Charlie stilled, his arm around his mother’s shoulders. Although his eyes darting between the man and Marina fearfully, he made no further move to draw his wand.

The man turned back to Marina, his wand going with his gaze. “Now, I asked you a question,” he said in the same, dangerous voice. “You’re not a Weasley, are you?”

Marina didn’t breathe, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears.

He placed his wand under her chin and used its point to push her face up. When Marina finally saw his face, she felt her heart sank to her stomach.

“Well well well,” the man breathed. “We meet again.”

It was Twiggs. To her immense bad luck, the corrupt Ministry goon who had ransacked her flat above Tomes and Scrolls seven years prior had recognised her. 

“Now what’s a Muggle doin’ in Diagon Alley at a time like this?” Twiggs said, motioning the onlooking gang to come over.

“Muggle?” one of them exclaimed loudly as they approached again, sounding disgusted. “Did you say Muggle, Twiggs?”

“Aye,” he said, eyes alight with a deadly mirth. “We’ve got ourselves an infiltrator.”

One of the gang spat at Marina’s feet but she didn’t dare move.

“You two are in real trouble now,” Twiggs said, pointing his wand towards Mrs Weasley and Charlie. “Fraternisin’ with Muggles? Wait until the Ministry hears about this.”

Marina chanced a glance at them to see them rooted to the spot looking horrified. She saw Charlie lean forward, and Mrs Weasley’s mouth opened to say something.

“I’m not with them,” Marina said quickly, looking at Twiggs.

The Weasleys froze.

Twiggs returned his wand to underneath her chin and pushed it uncomfortably into her skin. “What’s that?” he asked, sharply.

“I’m not with them,” she repeated, not looking towards the Weasleys. “I was just – just shopping in the same place, they didn’t know that I was a – a –”

“A filthy, disgustin’, pathetic little Muggle sneakin’ around where she doesn’t belong?” Twiggs leered, seizing her and turning towards the Weasleys with his wand still pointed up at Marina’s throat. “Is that true, Weasley scum? You didn’t know that we had a slippery Muggle spy right under your noses? Probably can’t tell the difference with the company you keep, Blood-traitors, Mudbloods, and Muggles is all the same to you isn’t it?”

Marina stared at them, hoping with all her soul that they went along with the ruse. They were already in hot water; she couldn’t imagine what would happen to them if it came out that they’d been running around with a Muggle in the middle of Diagon Alley. Neither of them spoke, a stony mix of dread and anger in their eyes.

“Well? Did you know?” Twiggs said loudly from behind her.

There was a flurry of movement at the edge of Marina’s peripheral vision. The rest of the gang had drawn their wands in unison, but still the Weasleys said nothing. She caught Mrs Weasley’s eye and saw the truth with equal parts dismay and pride – neither of them was going to lie and give her up, even if they knew what it meant to be incriminated. In a moment of surreal clarity, Marina realised that if the Weasleys were going to get out unscathed, she had to do something – fast. 

Marina reached up and grabbed the back of Twiggs’ wand hand, twisting it away from herself with a swift jerk. Before he could even cry out in pain she was turning in the same direction, facing him in a flash - with both thumbs pressed against the back of his hand, Marina bent his wrist back on itself, crippling it and forcing him to drop his wand. He spontaneously leaned forward to try to alleviate the strain on his wrist but she was already stepping towards him, forcing his hand down even further and he crumpled as the strain on his wrist increased. Marina drove forward even more and as he reached the edge of his balance she easily swept his legs out from under him. Before any of his cronies could react, he had hit the ground on his back and let out a loud expulsion of air as he was winded.

With shouts, the onlooking Snatchers started firing spells. Smoke and ash exploded into the air as the curses erupted against the surrounding shops. A bolt of red light whizzed past Marina’s head and she leaned out of the way just in time, but in the flurry of curses there was no avoiding getting hit and a second later a purple bolt crashed into her chest – but nothing happened. The light dissipated, and she felt nothing.

 _The Wardore,_ she thought distantly, feeling the charm growing warm on her skin under her shirt. _I’m still wearing the Wardore Moody gave me._

Another curse shot towards her and she ducked – she could hear shouting behind her, and under the cover of the smoke she turned to see Charlie and Mrs Wealsey, wands drawn as they cast shield charm after shield charm, desperately waving her over as they were forced back down the street. Marina stood and was just about to run after them when a horrible scream made her stop.

“NOT WITH THEM!” bellowed Twiggs, scrambling to his feet. “NOT WITH THEM ARE YOU!”

Marina hesitated, horrified. If she followed the Weasleys, the Snatchers would know that she’d been lying. They’d be doomed. She saw panic on Charlie’s face and fear on Mrs Weasley’s as Twiggs raised his wand once more. His curse hit her at point blank range right as his gang cast more jinxes her way, and Marina felt pain erupt across her skin like a spreading fire. She fell like a stone. Eyes swimming with pain-induced tears, Marina’s head spun as she tried to focus on her surroundings. Dizziness had taken the solidity from the world, and her head blearily drifted to the side.

Twiggs pointed his wand down at her, anger burning in his eyes. “Filthy Muggle,” he spat. “How dare you put your hands on me!”

He kicked her hard in the stomach. The sharp pain instantly cleared Marina’s mind to a razor edge and brought her assailant into adrenaline-fueled focus, but it also sent nausea rocketing through her diaphragm and she heaved.

“I’ll kill you, Muggle scum!” Twiggs was shouting somewhere above her. “Teach you a lesson, won’t it! I’ll –”

“What’s all this, Twiggs?” a cold voice cut through the havoc of the street like a knife.

Everything stilled. Smoke slowly faded upwards, and Marina opened her eyes where she lay on the cobblestones to see a man in a long black robe and a harsh, angular face peering down at her disapprovingly.

“Yaxley,” said Twiggs flatly, not sounding pleased to see him. “Nothin’ to see here, just a Muggle who –”

“A Muggle?” Yaxley repeated coolly, eyes narrowing on Marina. “In Diagon Alley?”

“Yes sir,” Twiggs mumbled, “I was just dealin’ with it as you can see –”

“How did she get in?” said Yaxley icily.

Marina’s heart sped up. “I worked here,” she said from the ground, forgetting about the assault to her stomach and devolving into a coughing fit. Yaxley patiently waited for her to finish, his hard eyes never leaving her face.

“I worked here years ago,” she breathed, heaving in oxygen. “There’s an entrance through the back of the Leakey Cauldron –”

“You need a wand for that,” Yaxley interrupted, looking around. His eyes fell upon the two Weasleys who were looking on with horror from where they had been driven back further down the street. “You’d need someone with a wand to… help you,” he said softly, mouth curling.

“I waited for someone,” Marina rasped desperately, trying to get his attention back off Charlie and Mrs Weasley. “I waited for someone to open it and then – then followed them in –”

Yaxley withdrew his wand with a single swift motion and pointed it at her. “Crucio,” he said calmly.

Pain like none Marina had ever known bloomed in her chest and spread across her body, inside her, on her skin, across her face and fingers alike. It writhed and burned and seared on and on until she thought her heart would stop – and then just as quickly as it had engulfed her, it was gone. She lay gasping on the stones, her thoughts taking their time coming back to her. She managed to make out the tail-end of what Twiggs was saying, his voice defensive and near petulant.

“– near on seven years ago now, me and Batt –”

“You mean to say that this Muggle was living in Hogsmeade seven years ago,” Yaxley interrupted sharply.

Twiggs evidently nodded because Marina didn’t hear him reply. She finally managed to open her eyes, only to see Yaxley’s heavy face looking down at her, wand in hand.

“A Muggle who worked in Diagon Alley and lived in Hogsmeade,” Yaxley said softly. “My my, to allow such filth to walk among us for so many years, right under our very noses…”

The gang of Snatchers gave jeers and low murmurs of dissent.

“Shall I deal with her?” Twiggs asked, fervently raising his wand with hatred in his eyes.

Marina stared up at the wand, wondering if her life was really about to end. She felt strangely detached from the situation, like it was someone else’s body on the ground and she was just spectating.

After an age, Yaxley replied.

“No,” he said softly. “No, I think there is more to this story…”

Yaxley levelled Twiggs with a cool but unrelenting gaze, and without having to speak another word Twiggs dropped both his wand and his face, stepping backwards automatically. It was clear who had the real authority. Twiggs’ expression was as full of rage as it was embarrassment, and his eyes were flicking to the side like he was trying to gage the reactions of his cronies.

Yaxley ignored him. The Death Eater crouched beside Marina’s face, holding his wand loosely in his hand. The way he assessed her gave him a cavalier arrogance that made Marina’s skin prickle with fear. Unlike Twiggs, Yaxley clearly had no anxiety to prove himself – it made him a hundred times less predictable and infinitely more dangerous.

“So, you have been living among us,” Yaxley said quietly. “How did you find out about our world? A family member, perhaps?”

Marina was breathing heavily through her nose, body still aching from Twiggs’ kick and Yaxley’s curse. “I got sick,” she whispered truthfully, eyes flicking between Yaxley’s face and his wand. “They cared for me at Hogwarts.”

“Sick,” he repeated, sounding unconvinced. “And why did they not simply wipe your memories after you recovered?”

Marina gave a tired snort. “You’re assuming I recovered,” she said, thinking of the last two months of bleeding noses and bruised ribs. 

Yaxley’s wand twitched in his hands and this time she didn’t even hear him speak the curse before the pain wracked her body. She felt her fingers curling, heard herself screaming, but there was no presence to those thoughts – her mind was consumed by the pain, unspeakable and without boundary. It was a pain so immense that it seemed to transcend the limits of her skin, so much pain that her body couldn’t possibly contain it all, it must be washing down the street and filling up the whole world, and she was suspended within it, writhing, burning –

Yaxley dropped the curse and Marina’s body collapsed back onto the cobblestones from where her back had been arching. She was too tired to sob, too tired to try to get away. She just let her head fall to the side and felt the tears that had pooled in her eyes drip away passively.

“You will not speak to me with such disrespect,” Yaxley said, his voice as cold and as even as ever. “Clearly, living in the wizarding world has instilled you with some false sense of importance – you have begun to think that you are worthy of walking among us… a parasite.” He gave her a disgusted look like he might give his shoe if he had stepped in something foul. “This must be rectified.”

Yaxley stood. “The Blood-traitors,” he said quietly. “Are they a part of this?”

Twiggs stepped forward obediently. “No,” he said quickly, eager to be useful again. “No, they was just onlookers –”

“I see,” interrupted Yaxley, dismissively.

Twiggs hesitated and then moved back again, shooting Marina a look of deep hatred as if the humiliation was somehow her doing.

“Well,” said Yaxley. He lifted his foot and pushed Marina’s face with the toe of his shoe, forcing her to look up at him. “Quite the character I have discovered…” he appraised her with a look of chilling calculation, and Marina stared up at him, despondent.

Yaxley gave a cold smile. “I do believe that the Dark Lord might like the pleasure of meeting this Muggle himself…”

Before anyone could speak another word, Yaxley leaned down and seized Marina by her hair, fear washing over her and mixing with the sickening drop in her stomach as he Apparated her away. 

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Sorry for the delay!!! I have had something of a difficult week...  
>  Thanks so much for the amazing reception on the previous chapter! I was really blown away, not sure what I've done to deserve such a kind and engaged audience ❤️  
>  Also - I realised that I haven't made a comment on this yet so I will now bc it's important. JK Rowling is a terf, trans women are women, and trans men are men, so jot that down.  
>  If you're new to trans issues and the discourse around JK Rowling's recent comments has brought it up to you, or if you'd just like to learn more about trans issues, I'd recommend checking out Contrapoints on the ole youtube. She has some great videos about it that are as accessible as they are entertaining - she's probably the funniest person alive. And Shaun (also a youtuber) has a great video on transphobia in the UK - though his videos are not from a trans perspective.  
>  Anyway, thanks again for your support!!  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	27. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: Torture._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA LAY ON** her side on the cold floor, the bag over her head making it hard to breath. Something throbbed horribly in her right arm, and she wrinkled her nose to free some of the crusted, congealed blood clogged there in a vain effort to make breathing easier. Her wrists were painfully bound behind her back and her eyes were wide in the formless darkness of the bag. She wasn’t alone. She could hear laboured breathing and low, muffled exclamations of pain of others around her – though no one dared speak to each other. The threat of the Death Eaters returning to resume their torture compelled them into silence without command.

It felt like an age since Yaxley had brought her to Malfoy Manor, though Marina had no idea how long exactly – pain had distorted her sense of time. She didn’t know if they had been torturing her all night, or if it had only been an hour. Under the stuffy darkness of the bag Marina was none the wiser if the sun was bright in the sky or if it was the dead of night. Not that it mattered – any amount of time under the custody of Death Eaters was too long.

A door flung open and Marina jolted in fear.

“Up!” a familiar voice snapped. Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman had made many appearances during Marina’s torture – heavy-lidded eyes, wild black hair, and a deep, gravelly voice that rasped when she grew agitated. 

There was a flash of blue light and a sound like a whip cracking, and a man near Marina cried out in pain. Marina scrambled to her knees as quickly as she could without the use of her hands. Right as she started to stand, the whip-like crack rang out again and a sharp burst of pain erupted on the back of her calves – they had long since taken her Wardore, and she was as vulnerable as she could be.

“On your knees!” Bellatrix hissed.

Marina fell heavily into a kneel, her eyes watering reflexively at the sting. Other sounds began to permeate the room, footsteps gently clacking against the wooden floor. The room was filling up. Marina could only guess at the size of the crowd by the sounds of muttering, jeering, even some cold laughter that began to edge in around her.

She kept her head ducked, straining against her blindness under the bag to try to gage how far away they were, how many they were, anything that might help her. Her desperate scrutiny faltered as the crowd fell silent in one seamless swoop, and Marina’s mind raced and strained to detect them again, feeling even more blind and exposed. Too late did Marina realise that her attention had been in the wrong place.

“Bellatrix,” said a voice. High, cold, empty, Marina recognised its speaker without effort.

Voldemort had come.

Her knees suddenly felt weak beneath her and she wondered what would happen if she collapsed, used the fear to force herself steady and calm her stuttering breath. The overwhelming sense of danger had turned her skin to fire, the cold pressure of the wood stung beneath her and the bindings on her wrists became unbearable. Her face felt hot and she didn’t know if it was because of her trapped breath or a flush of fear.

“What have you brought me?” Voldemort continued. His voice sent a horrible chill down Marina’s spine. It was unlike anything she had ever heard, so completely devoid of warmth that something beyond her consciousness knew that it was wrong, knew that it was dangerous and subhuman and deadly the same way some hungry wild animal was deadly – inevitable and uncompromising.

The bag was torn from Marina’s head and the adrenaline coursing through her turned the noise deafening. Marina blinked against the light which, all though dim, was uncomfortable to her dark-accustomed eyes. A fireplace with subdued flames cast long shadows across its black floor and drew the unsympathetic faces that encircled her even harsher and more austere. The tall stone walls and dark vaulted ceiling miles above told her that she should feel cold, but her skin was aflame with every sensation, prickling and aching against her very clothes like she was fevered.

She had delayed the inevitable long enough. Marina’s eyes fell upon the figure who sat in the wooden throne before them, dominating the centre of the chamber. Every face was turned towards him, reverent, fearful, admiring, and in Bellatrix’s case, adoring. Even the shadows seemed drawn to him.

Voldemort was draped in black robes and held a pale wand in his white hand that rested lazily on the arm of his throne. He was pale, so pale that his skin looked ghostly and unnatural, and even from far away she could see the red of his eyes and the snake-like pupils. Everything on his face looked wrong from the slits of his nose to his distorted, waxy skin. In his features there was nothing of Riddle’s face, no familiarity or hint of resemblance, but there was something in his expression that she recognised. The cold, detached look in his eyes as if he were observing the world from behind thick glass, the sense of implicit superiority and arrogance – Marina was reminded distantly of when she had first seen Riddle, months and months ago when he had brought her into his diary to interrogate her. On Voldemort’s twisted features, the expression rendered his face more terrible, more evil, more dangerous.

Bellatrix stepped in front of Marina across her view of Voldemort. Marina’s head fell immediately, like a spell had been broken. She had gone very calm, like the terror she felt had erased all other feeling and sensation.

“This one,” breathed Bellatrix from Marina’s left, “we have had for weeks, My Lord. We have tried to reason with him, but he refuses to see the truth…” She flicked her wand and the same whip-crack split the room. A figure somewhere to Marina’s left fell to the floor, moaning.

Marina chanced a fleeting look in that direction and saw two other bound and bloodied figures kneeling beside her, with the third now pushing himself back up onto his knees. Marina shivered with recognition – pitch-black hair and a handsome face, though now it was cut and bruised after the weeks he had spent in the Death Eater’s custody. It was Healer Jin.

“He has been treating Muggle scum and Mudbloods alike,” spat Bellatrix as the crowd leered and hissed at her words. Marina could see her circling Jin in her peripheral vision, and she strained her downturned eyes to keep track of what was happening.

“You have bestowed the gift of magical medicine upon such unworthy, vile bodies?” Voldemort asked, his voice unnaturally cold and deadly soft. “You would go against the natural order of the world? Pervert your sacred duty by allowing such filth under your care?”

Despite his hateful words, his inflection was almost elegant.

Jin raised his head and met Voldemort’s gaze with an unimaginable composure and a set jaw. “It is my duty to help all who need it,” he said with impressive clarity.

Bellatrix’s wand hand slashed through the air in anger and Jin fell to the floor again, writhing. Marina had not seen another person under the Cruciatus curse before and she watched in horror as Jin’s twitching body bent and twisted under the pain. She could not look away, frozen as the torture went on and on, and a strangled scream punctured the air as it gurgled from Jin’s throat and then –

“Enough,” said Voldemort calmly.

Bellatrix immediately let the curse fall, and Jin collapsed breathing heavily on the floor. Marina could not stop herself from looking over to him, eyes wide in both horror and fear. She begged her knees to stop trembling.

“Do you not see,” Voldemort continued, as if nothing had happened, “your skills and your potential must be immense... and yet you squander them on the lowest most vile forms of life, so ignorant and primitive that they could not begin to understand what you have done...”

But Jin was not listening. He had finally caught sight of Marina kneeling at the other end of their line-up. His expression went from a gritted exhaustion to blank surprise in an instant – he was clearly as taken aback to see her as she was to see him. 

His moment of distraction left a ringing silence after Voldemort’s words, and Marina felt that pervasive feeling of danger saturate the room in its wake.

“You are right, Bellatrix,” said Voldemort quietly, “he will not see reason. Such a waste...”

Voldemort’s pale hand twitched, his bone-white wand jerking forward. 

“Avada Kedavra.”

A flash of blinding green light engulfed the room and was gone before Marina even blinked – Healer Jin fell to the floor with a thump, dead.

Marina’s skin was crawling with heat, fear clawed at her heart. She had never seen death before. A silence both dull and ringing blocked out her ears as she stared in muted horror - Jin’s corpse was utterly still, an unnatural stillness that drew up a creeping wrongness the longer she looked. He did not breath or blink, he did not twitch or tense, his face was frozen in a blank mask.

“And what is this?” Voldemort’s voice sliced through Marina and she was forced back to the present with a gasp.

The sounds of the room crashed back into her and Marina realised with a sickening horror that reckless sobs were ripping from her chest, loud and ragged breaths that were making her entire form shake as her body rebelled against her. She mentally screamed at herself to stop, but it was too late. She had drawn his attention.

“A Muggle, my Lord,” Bellatrix said, approaching from behind the line and tracing her wand across Marina’s throat.

“A Muggle,” Voldemort repeated, sounding amused.

Marina could do nothing except listen over the sound of her own rasping hyperventilation, her eyes began to water as she stared hard at the floor, not daring to look up at Voldemort.

“Yaxley found her in Diagon Alley,” Bellatrix continued, wand pressing harder against Marina’s throat at the very thought of it.

“Is that so?” Voldemort said, the amusement immediately gone. “A Muggle who managed to make its way into the magical world...”

“That is not all, my Lord,” Yaxley’s deep voice resounded from somewhere in the crowd. Marina saw him step forward in her peripheral vision, but she kept her gaze fixed downwards. “She claims to have worked there, she’s been living among us for years, it seems.”

“Silence, Yaxley,” Voldemort said coldly, “if I had wished for your input, I would have summoned you.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Yaxley said quickly, stepping back.

“Though... what you propose is troubling, indeed,” said Voldemort, slowly, his attention returning to Marina. “Is this true?” he demanded.

Marina could not speak, paralysed by panic.

“Look at me,” said Voldemort coldly.

She did not.

Voldemort’s wand hand twitched again and Marina felt a hot sting burst on her right brow and her head jerked to the side with the force of the cut. Blood immediately flowed down from the cut and she blinked as it trickled into her eye.

“I said, look at me,” Voldemort hissed.

Marina shakily raised her head, and his red eyes burned into hers from his inhuman face. For all her efforts to avoid his gaze, she was suddenly unable to look away.

“The Dark Lord asked you a question,” leered Bellatrix, wand still pressed against Marina’s throat. “Answer it!”

Marina’s voice would not come at first, and she swallowed hard. “Yes,” she whispered.

Voldemort turned to his Death Eaters with a strangely triumphant expression. “Now you see,” he said almost gleefully, “the Muggles wish to invade us, to prey on our carelessness, to feed on our power since they have none of their own... we must not allow such vermin to creep its way into our world.”

His cold gaze fell back upon her, and Marina realised all at once that he was going to kill her. Marina’s stomach dropped. She was going to die here, at Voldemort’s hand, in a cold room of strangers on the other side of the planet from her home, far away from her own time and everyone she ever knew. The weight of it fell upon her like a tide of water, crushing down on her and in on all sides. Her breath left her chest and tears erupted from her eyes as she stared back at Voldemort’s waxen, unnatural face.

“Crucio,” said Voldemort, raising his wand.

It began again, the eruption of pain, the unimaginable totality of it as it consumed her and bled out her edges until she was nothing but the agony. Her mouth was thick with blood when he finally released her, the thudding sting on her tongue telling her she’d bitten it hard.

‘ _It was for nothing, then_ ,’ she thought, feeling the cold floor press against her cheek as she lay broken before Voldemort. _‘Everything was for nothing.’_

Her exhausted sobs were silenced and stilled in an instant – with a low, strange rasping sound of a huge, scaled body slithering across the polished wooden floor, a huge snake had appeared in Marina’s line of sight. She stared, frozen in fear, at snake’s thick body as it made its way past her from the back of the room.

The great snake let out a resonating hiss that filled the whole room and Marina distantly recognised the sound from her long-passed attempts to learn Parseltongue – either Nagini was scared, or hungry, and she didn’t think that the snake had much cause to be scared.

“Ah, Nagini,” Voldemort said, sounding distantly pleased. “Indeed, it must be near time for your next meal...”

Marina looked up tiredly and met the heartless eyes of Voldemort’s last Horcrux. Nagini had circled around and was approaching her with a single-mindedness that made Marina push herself up in fear, exhaustedly trying to shuffle back away from the snake to no avail. Marina did the only thing she could think to do – she opened her mouth and said the only thing she could remember in Parseltongue.

‘ _I’m scared.’_

It didn’t sound completely right, but Nagini froze in place, rearing back a bit like she was surprised. The reaction was nothing compared to Voldemort’s. Marina did not hear him cast the curse before she was thrown into the torture – worse than last time, like Voldemort’s fury and confusion at her exhibition was being channelled into the curse. She barely noticed that he had let the curse fall, so blinded had she been by the pain.

“How can this be?” Voldemort hissed, on his feet and standing above her. "How did you come by that tongue?"

His rage radiated off him in waves, and from the floor Marina’s bleary eyes made out the cowering forms of the Death Eaters whose confidence and bravado had vanished at the sight of Voldemort’s wrath. Marina could not focus, could not gather herself to answer before he was raising his wand to curse her again when –

“I believe I might be able to answer that, my Lord.”

The voice came from behind Voldemort’s throne, a figure standing along the wall with the other Death Eaters. The figure’s hood was down, and he wore no mask, but even if his face had been concealed, Marina would have recognised the speaker immediately all the same. The fear of Nagini, the pain from the Cruciatus curse, the exhausted despair at facing her own death – everything turned to smoke and drifted away.

Tom stood before them, dressed in the same black robes as the other Death Eaters. His face had changed since Marina had last seen him, his features had retained their angular elegance but he looked more filled out and settled than his teenage self. His black hair was carefully styled to the side and his eyes looked just as black in the dim light of the room, the flickering fireplace casting half his face into shadow.

“What is the meaning of this, Tom?” whispered Voldemort with rage in his voice. His wand was still aloft, pointed down at Marina in a splayed hand.

Tom considered Voldemort a moment before looking down at Marina. Her eyes had not left Tom’s face, his terrible beauty having sent her into a state of absolute hopelessness. It could not be him, he could not be there behind Voldemort, dressed as a Death Eater, giving her that cold, composed look.

“I know this Muggle, my Lord,” Tom said quietly.

Voldemort looked at him a moment, and then wheeled around to the room of Death Eaters who were watching the scene unfold before them in silent rapture.

“Out,” he whispered, face twisted in fury.

The Death Eaters moved as if he had roared the command – the remaining two prisoners who had been silently cowering beside Marina were heavily seized by magical bounds and dragged from the room, and every Death Eater scattered. Even Nagini had vanished, slithering away into the darkness. Within seconds they had emptied from the room, all except Tom and Bellatrix.

“And you, Bellatrix,” Voldemort said, not looking her way.

“But – my Lord –“

“Out!” he screamed, voice saturated with anger.

Bellatrix fled.

Voldemort rounded on Tom, who met his furious gaze with calm composition. “Explain yourself,” Voldemort hissed.

“This is the Muggle who found the Diary, my Lord,” Tom said very casually, “it is her soul which I consumed to regain my present form. It is possible that perhaps in the process, she gained some knowledge from me... hence the Parseltongue.” Tom’s eyes fell upon Marina’s face again, his brow was creased like he was considering a mildly difficult crossword puzzle.

“How can this be?” said Voldemort immediately, and Marina could hear in his voice the narrowing of his eyes. “You had told me that you did not know who had claimed the diary, that it was found within Borgin and Burkes.”

“It was,” Tom nodded, not looking fazed. “I was always unsure as to how a Muggle came by it, though perhaps Yaxley’s claim that she has been working in Diagon Alley resolves that mystery.”

“You did not ask?” Voldemort said, voice cold with suspicion.

Tom’s lips curved in a cold smirk. “I must confess, my Lord, when I discovered that the diary had been claimed by a Muggle of all things, I did not think it necessary to... hold back. I wasted no time in beginning the consumption, asking such questions was hardly necessary – a Muggle had no way of defending herself, she had no idea what she had picked up.”

Marina’s mind was racing. Half of what Tom was saying were complete lies. She had told Tom the lie about finding his diary in Borgin and Burkes when they had first begun speaking, though he knew well that the story was false now. Not to mention his explanation for the Parseltongue. She stared at him, a whirlwind of emotions in her chest. To see him there, calmly speaking with Voldemort with his face cold and reserved was like a torture of its own. It was as if she were being taunted, her failures being thrown in her face one by one.

“How has she survived?” Voldemort was demanding, returning his attention to Marina on the floor before him. “If you consumed her soul, she should be dead.”

“I agree,” Tom’s brow creased into a frown again. “That mystery remains to be solved...”

“This Muggle appears to be just as surprised to see you, Tom,” Voldemort said with a cruel mirth, finally noticing Marina’s stricken expression. “I wonder...”

Voldemort swooped down and seized Marina’s face in his hand, his long, bone-white fingers clutching her face painfully. He raised his wand to the side of her head and Marina realised at the last second what was coming.

“Legilimens,” crooned Voldemort.

Marina’s head split open, every thought scattered like the fragments of a shattered glass dropped on the ground. The relentless foreign presence of Voldemort within her mind sent waves of nauseating disorientation crashing through her, but a single memory shone through. Vaguely, distantly, ever so faintly, she remembered a book she had read months prior, a calm evening with Riddle above Tomes and Scrolls reading, the first night she had really managed to talk to him. He had picked a book on 20th century wizarding history, and she had picked...

_‘The key to true Occlumency is to provide a layer of thought and emotion that would appear legitimate to the invading Legilimens. Closing one’s mind completely leaves gaps and blanks that will draw the attention of the aggressor and give notice that you are attempting to conceal something, allowing the Legilimens to press further. Instead, the skilled Occlumens allows the Legilimens the illusion that they are seeing one’s true, unfiltered thoughts and feelings.’_

Marina had no training, no idea or experience of Occlumency, but she did know one thing – in that moment she was certainly capable of providing a lot of layers of emotion. With the resounding sensation of resignation, Marina allowed the full crushing weight of her feelings saturate her; the horror and disbelief of the things she had seen during the war, the fear of Voldemort, the deep resonating dread of her own death at his hands, and most of all, the utter despair of seeing Tom, anger and confusion at his presence there, and the impossibility of it all, the unfairness, the betrayal –

All at once, Voldemort was gone and Marina was left gasping, gathering her presence of mind. A sound was echoing around the room, unnerving and bewildering - laughter. Voldemort was laughing, cold and high.

“She feels you have _betrayed_ her,” Voldemort said, voice alight with cruel delight. “The arrogance... the ignorance... Muggles never cease to amaze me with their small, unseeing minds...” Voldemort pushed Marina’s face up with his bare foot, smiling at her just as coldly as he had laughed. “Were you so enraptured with his pretence that even now in the face of his true motives, you still wish to believe it?”

Voldemort laughed again, letting Marina’s face fall. He considered her, his wand motionless in his poised hand. “But this does not answer the question of how she survived,” Voldemort said, voice colder.

“That I cannot answer, my Lord,” said Tom, taking a step towards them with his hands clasped tidily behind his back. “The last time I saw her, I confess I had assumed her dead myself.” He looked straight at Marina, and she felt her stomach twist. Completely unresponsive to her obvious despair and free-flowing tears, he returned his attention to Voldemort.

“She must die,” Voldemort said immediately. “Muggle or not, no one must know, no one can know...” Voldemort’s eyes were on Tom’s features, something close to fear at the edge of his expression.

Marina's true history and Tom's lies had been drowned out in her mind by her overload of emotion, and Voldemort was clearly too arrogant and prejudiced to consider that a Muggle might be capable of pulling any sort of deception over him - but Marina was beginning to understand. Was it self-preservation? Was Tom afraid that if Voldemort knew that they had grown to be something close to friends, that he would be killed on the spot for having indulged in such weakness?

It didn't seem to matter anymore. Marina had spent months pouring and pondering over Tom's potential motivations for what he did, and now here he was at Voldemort's side, trying to keep his favour, watching Marina's torture with cool passivity.

Marina found her voice. “Dumbledore was right about you,” she whispered.

Both Voldemort and Tom looked down at her, and in that moment, even Marina could not tell at which one she had directed her words.

“Dumbledore?” Voldemort said sharply. “How –”

The door flung open and a Death Eater quickly entered. “My Lord –”

Voldemort screamed in rage again, and his wand struck forward. The Death Eater collapsed immediately.

“How dare you interrupt me!” Voldemort hissed, “what insolence –”

“My Lord,” gasped the Death Eater, “there is news – we have found something –”

Voldemort’s countenance immediately shifted. “Speak,” he commanded, lowering his wand.

“Austria, my Lord,” said the Death Eater weakly.

“Austria,” breathed Voldemort, “I see...”

Voldemort’s attention returned to Marina as if he had forgotten she was there, and he gave her a look of deep disdain. “I wish to question this Muggle further,” he said coldly. “Take her to the dungeon.”

Immediately, the Death Eater who had entered drew his wand and Marina felt a sharp tug on the bindings that still held her wrists behind her back as she was yanked across the floor by an invisible force. As she was pulled towards the Death Eater’s outstretched wand, she could hear Voldemort speaking to Tom.

“I will be gone for a time, Tom, you must keep watch here.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And make sure that Bellatrix does not become carried away with the Muggle, I wish her mind to be intact when I return...”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Marina caught a final glance of them as she was dragged away, Voldemort’s warped, pale features next to Tom’s sharp beautiful face, standing together in the shadowy room like a lieutenant and his master. Suddenly, Tom looked over at her – their eyes met for a single moment, and gravity seemed to vanish as heat burned on Marina’s face and she searched him for something, anything – but the door slammed shut behind her, and Tom was gone.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Y'ALL IT'S BEEN A TIME. Okay so my laptop officially died SO I am in the process of buying a new one..... but in the mean time, writing means that I either stay late at my office, or skimp on working on my thesis to write instead. This will slow me down until I get the new laptop, but THIS STORY IS NOT ABANDONED. I am very very sorry for the huge delay in updates, I swear to you that it was not intentional or because I'm giving up on the story lol.  
>  Thanks as always for the lovely comments and everything! I ask that you just be a bit patient until I sort the new laptop, at which point I can return to the regular update schedule.  
>  Thank you very much :)  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	28. Thinking Outside the Wand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: torture._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **WITH A LOUD** echo, the barred door of the cellar slammed shut. For a moment, it was all Marina could do to relish in the silence and calm that was left in the Death Eaters’ wake. They had finally cut her bindings, and she felt stinging, sticky abrasions there from straining against them for so long.

The stone floor was ice cold and damp below her, but she took comfort in it – while their torture had seemed to erase her body away into a single endless haze of agony, the cool stone pressed against her made the boundary of her skin razor sharp and definitive. She lay there a moment, letting the pain ebb as her mind reeled from what she had just experienced, from witnessing Jin's murder, from coming face to face Voldemort, from seeing Tom – 

“Are you alright?” 

Marina jolted and pushed herself up at once, heart racing as she scanned the dark cellar for the source of the voice.

A very old man was leaning against the far wall next to a beaten metal jug of water and what looked like a spongey lump of bread. He had white hair and a wrinkled face, and his slumped posture told Marina that he had received much the same treatment as she. A hunch occurred to her.

“Ollivander?” she asked cautiously, squinting at him.

The man hesitated. “How do you know me?” he asked slowly.

“Er,” Marina frowned, kicking herself, “I – lucky guess,” she said lamely. “Someone told me you’d been taken.” 

Ollivander hesitated again, this time with the distinct air of scepticism. “I see,” he said eventually. “And your name is?”

“Marina,” she said, wincing as she accidentally leaned on her injured arm. 

Ollivander gave a very small twitch. “Marina,” he repeated, sounding decidedly more interested. “I do not recall selling you a wand... a Muggle, perhaps?”

It was Marina's turn to hesitate – she would readily believe that Ollivander was a clever man, but that big a leap in logic seemed far too astute. All at once, Marina remembered what Mrs Weasley had told her the first night that she had arrived at the Burrow. 

_Tom began working at Ollivanders, who was willing to take him on in spite of… or perhaps because of his strange background…._

“You worked with Tom,” she said sharply.

“I did,” Ollivander nodded, the atmosphere between them becoming tense and alive. “Young Master Riddle and I were colleagues for a number of years.”

“He told you about me, then,” she muttered, shuffling to lean against one of the broad stone pillars. 

“He told me some things,” said Ollivander carefully, “though I seem to recall the story ending with your disappearance and apparent death...”

“Apparently not dead,” Marina gestured to her bloodied face with fictitious relief. “Don’t know how long that’ll last, though.”

“If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has not killed you already, you may expect it to last,” said Ollivander in a tired, knowing voice. “I myself, have been here for many months now. He is immortal, after all... he has endless time to extract what he wants from you.”

“Well thanks,” Marina said sarcastically, “that’s a great comfort.”

Marina thought she saw a half smile twitch on his face. “You are much like how Master Riddle described you,” he said. 

Marina felt a frown crease her face, irked. “Why are you calling him that?” she said, unable to keep the sting from her voice. “‘ _Master Riddle'_ – he’s not exactly your employee anymore, he’s holding you prisoner.”

Ollivander gave her a strangely eerie look. “I made him his new wand, you know,” he said distantly. “After he had worked back the value of the wand he had stolen, of course...”

Marina scoffed and let her head rest against the pillar behind her. “So _that’s_ where he found that thing...”

“He provided the new core, himself,” Ollivander continued, ignoring her interruption. “A phoenix feather...”

Marina looked around sharply. “ _My_ phoenix feather? The one Dumbledore gave me?”

“It was yours?” Ollivander asked, eyes glittering in the dark. “I knew only that it came from the same phoenix who provided the feather for his counterpart... and of course, Mr Potter himself.” His voice had grown whispery. “Three wands with cores from the same phoenix...” he said, nearly under his breath. “It was unheard of... I am surely the first wandmaker to have achieved such a milestone...”

“You can tell things about someone, can’t you?” Marina said slowly, “from their wand, I mean.”

“Wands can sometimes indicate certain traits of their owners, yes,” Ollivander mused as his posture shifting upright, his interest piqued. 

“What did Tom’s wand indicate, then?” Marina asked bluntly, unable to resist.

“Phoenix feather and pine, thirteen and a half inches... somewhat flexible, if I recall,” said Ollivander in the same distant tone. “Particularly adept for nonverbal spells and a more… _creative_ approach to magic." Ollivander paused thoughtfully. "They say that owners of pine wands are destined to live particularly long lives."

Marina snorted, and Ollivander resolutely ignored her as he continued on. "They also tend to gravitate towards those who make their own paths... and who do not mind their own company.”

“Loners,” Marina summarised, feeling disappointed – she hardly needed Ollivander to tell her that Tom was a loner.

“More accurately,” Ollivander said, a bit sharply, “those who are unafraid to go where others have not.”

Marina didn’t bother holding back her grimace – a fair fit for Tom indeed, though she wasn’t sure why Ollivander was saying it like it was a good thing. “Anything else?”

"This tendency would only be exacerbated by its core," Ollivander said rather indignantly, seeming annoyed that Marina was not more impressed. "Phoenix feather wands are fiercely independent, much like their owners - but once their allegiances are won, it is a hard bond to break.” 

Marina was silent as she processed this. “Are you trying to imply that the same can be said for Tom?” she asked, very sceptically. 

Ollivander did not reply, he just kept watching her with his strange, misty eyes.

“Easier to break than you’d think, then,” she muttered bitterly, “considering you’re still locked down here and he’s upstairs swanning around with the Death Eaters.”

“Perhaps,” Ollivander slowly conceded, “or perhaps a different, stronger bond is being forged...”

“Do you mean with You-Know-Who?” Marina asked in disbelief. 

“I do not pretend to understand how Master Riddle came to be in this time,” Ollivander said softly, “but I have overheard the Death Eaters many times... they say that he is another feat of the incomparable power of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. That he is his heir.” 

Marina scoffed again. “If Tom believes that, he’s a bigger idiot than I ever expected,” she said, shaking her head. 

“Is it such a ridiculous notion?” Ollivander replied, hauntingly. “Master Riddle appears from nowhere, a living, perfect replica of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named untouched by time. Who knows what the two could accomplish together...”

Marina, heavily disliking the fascinated edge that had crept into Ollivander’s words, gave him a caustic look. “You-Know-Who doesn't need an heir,” she snapped.

“Why ever not?” Ollivander asked immediately.

“You said it yourself,” she said sharply, “He’s immortal. Why would anyone who intends on living forever need an heir?”

Ollivander was quiet as he considered her, unable or unwilling to reply. His pale silvery eyes seemed to shine in the gloomy cellar, and Marina shivered, looking away.

"I’ve got to rest,” Marina said numbly, rubbing her eyes and feeling the exhaustion heavy in her limbs. 

Her companion remained silent as she laid down, facing away from him, and she couldn’t help but wish that she had a different cell-mate who didn’t make the hairs on her neck stand up with that eerie, calculating stare. 

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina was awoken what felt like mere moments after finally falling asleep to the cellar door banging open and Ollivander’s pained cries as he lurched across the room. Marina shot upwards and pressed her back against the stone pillar with a hammering heart.

“Time to go,” Bellatrix said with a broad, slightly unhinged smile. “The Dark Lord desires that you accompany him on his trip!” She spoke in a sing-song, mockingly polite tone as she jabbed her wand to the side and Ollivander collided heavily with the bottom of the stairs, crying out in pain.

“I – I know nothing,” Ollivander gasped as he was heaved upward. “I swear –”

“Silence, wandmaker,” Bellatrix snapped, brandishing her wand more threateningly.

Ollivander cowered back at once and with no more than a few pained moans, allowed them to heave him away. Bellatrix cruelly leered at Marina, and followed them up the stairs out of sight.

Almost immediately, silence fell. After such a horrifying display, the speed at which it did so was deeply unnerving. Marina looked around the cellar in an adrenaline-filled paranoia that did not match the sudden stillness. Her mind was spiralling into panic as she realised that if they came for her, dragged her away up the stairs like Ollivander, nothing would be left behind but an echoey cellar. The image played on repeat in her head and she yearned for a distraction, quickly learning that even a slightly creepy cell-mate was better than none at all. 

Marina shook her head in a desperate attempt to physically to banish the thoughts and frantically searched for something else to think about – what had Bellatrix said? That Voldemort wanted Ollivander to go with him to Austria? Marina had no idea what was in Austria, but if Voldemort wanted to take Ollivander, Marina could only guess that it had something to do with the Elder wand. 

_‘Hallows and Horcruxes,_ ’ she thought bitterly, wondering for the millionth time what Harry and the others were doing at that moment. _‘It always comes back to Hallows and Horcruxes.’_

Marina laid back down stiffly, her brain still anticipating the deceptive silence to be broken by another wave of Death Eaters. Somehow she fell asleep, waking what must have been hours later to the distant screams of some unlucky prisoner far above her. She had to listen to them as she devoured the single lump of hard bread that Ollivander had left by the jug of water, trying to dispel the gnawing hunger boring a hole in her gut. The screams echoed so much that she could never be sure exactly where they began, and they went on so long and with such violence that Marina wondered how whoever was producing them did not tear apart their throat. 

Much worse than the screams was when they abruptly stopped. Marina drew her knees up to her body and pushed herself into the corner of the room, trying to hold some warmth to her body and comfort herself against the cold vastness of her prison. She succumbed to an unlikely sleep shivering violently, quickly exhausted by the constant terror of waking. 

In the windowless cellar, time was nearly impossible to track. Marina’s only measurement was the jug of water – when her thirst grew unbearable, she allowed herself a meagre sip, rationing herself with an iron fist. The jug slowly emptied as the hours continued to pass relentlessly – but no one appeared. No food was delivered, no more water provided, no sign of Ollivander, or another prisoner, or even a Death Eater. 

It must have been at least two days before the jug was finally empty. After that, Marina was in limbo. She wondered dizzyingly if they had forgotten about her, if she would starve to death down here without a single person noticing – though more likely, it was the dehydration that would kill her. Marina’s lips had turned hard with deep cracks bloodying whenever she mistakenly moved them. Her tongue was so dry that it became painful to peel it from the roof of her mouth, and when she was forced to approach the bucket in the far corner of the cellar, what urine she passed was disturbingly dark.

Her body was poisoning itself. Marina laid helpless as the dehydration continued to take her, dizzy and lethargic. Time bled together, broken up only when she was inexplicably woken by a strange, unplaceable sound. 

Groggy, head pounding, and eyes aching, Marina rolled herself weakly onto her side to look at the wall beside her. The sound was coming from behind it, an odd, rhythmic scraping that was somehow familiar – though her addled mind could not identify it. She had never felt so weak, lying helpless as the sound continued on and on, drifting in and out of consciousness and only distantly registering that the noise was growing louder. 

BANG.

Marina was jolted from her hazed disorientation as the loud noise echoed through the room. 

BANG.

She feebly pushed herself onto her good arm, blinking in confusion as the sound echoed out again, emanating from the stone wall to her side. 

BANG. 

Dust was raining down from the broad stone bricks, and Marina swore that one of them trembled in its mortar. 

BANG – CRASH!

The brick came loose and smashed into the floor, fracturing in half and sending up a billowing cloud of dust. Marina attempted to push herself back, though her body was so weak that she didn’t even make it a metre. There was a series of thuds and another brick came loose, then another.

A hole appeared in the wall, through which she could see a singular figure silhouetted against a stream of moonlight – though that didn’t make sense, she thought blearily, the cellar was underground. 

She forced her drifting attention back to the most pressing concern – the black-robed figure who was ducking through the hole they'd made, stepping into the cellar, and catching sight of her lying there on the ground before them. 

“Hey,” Marina croaked, “what the fuck.” 

Covered in dirt, very sweaty, and holding a regular-looking shovel was Tom. 

“Are you coming or not?” he said somewhat breathlessly, gesturing to the hole behind him. 

“Excuse me?” she rasped as she stared at him in utter bewilderment, her brain unable to register either his presence or his dishevelled appearance. 

Tom rolled his eyes like she was being excessively difficult. “Obviously this is a rescue, isn’t it,” he said briskly, pushing half of a stone brick out of the way with his foot as he wiped back his sweaty hair with one arm. 

Marina peered through the hole, seeing for the first time that a very steep tunnel had been dug out behind it. 

“Did you –” she began, glancing back at the shovel in Tom’s hand. “Did you _dig_ down here?”

"Yes," he said, somewhat defensively. 

"Yourself? With a _shovel?"_

Tom looked irked. “I could hardly use magic, could I?” he said as if it were very obvious. “There are deflection wards all over this place.”

“The wards don’t account for digging?” Marina rasped in disbelief. 

“Of course not,” Tom said impatiently, “they’re much too arrogant to consider that someone might try to break in with Muggle technology.”

Marina stared, agape. The absolute impossibility of the situation had given her a surge of energy, though she could already feel it beginning to wane – her adrenaline was on a clock. 

“Listen, I’ll answer all your questions once we’re out of here,” Tom said quickly, offering her his hand, “but we have to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Marina said immediately, trying to shuffle back again. 

Tom visibly grit his teeth. “They won’t have heard that,” he said, indicating to the pile of rubble behind him, “the cellar has muffling charms on the outside so they don’t have to listen to the prisoners shouting – but we still need to hurry, and your only other option is to stay here.”

Marina could feel her lethargy returning with a vengeance, and she struggled to stay upright. “No,” she said hoarsely, shaking her head as she pushed away from him again. “This is a trick or something… how come you’re doing this now? Ollivander’s been here for months – I don’t believe you.”

Tom gave her a long, very conflicted look, seemingly engaged in some internal debate. He let go of a heavy breath in apparent resignation and rested the shovel against the wall, stepping towards her and crouching when he was at her side. Marina immediately leaned away in disgust at his proximity and was about to try to edge back again when – 

“Wait,” he said brittlely, raising his hand. 

She hesitated, fixing him with a suspicious glare. 

Seeing that she had forfeited retreat, Tom smoothly reached into his pocket and pulled out a very small object that Marina recognised at once. Her stomach swooped. It was a small, very creased, battered brown parcel wrapped in plain twine that was heavily fraying at each end – the Christmas present that he had given her six years prior. 

“What... how –” she said weakly, completely baffled. 

“Please,” said Tom, looking at her exasperatedly. “Just come with me. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

Marina looked from the parcel to his face, searching it for any hint of pretence – but Tom only stared back at her, all impatient and imploring like he really did just want her to believe him.

It was always down to this, wasn’t it? Whether or not she should trust him against all odds. 

_'There is a line,'_ Remus had said to her once, _'between acting in good faith and acting foolishly.'_

Was she at that line? Was she about to step over it, was this the same mistake over and over again? Was it ridiculous that the smallest bead of hope had welled up inside of her at the sight of the present? At the thought that he had kept it all these years in case she returned, or in some small gesture of sentimentality? Because even Remus had changed his mind, hadn't he? 

_You need your optimism now, Marina, it will get you through this…_

She grit her teeth, giving a long, shaky breath. After all, Tom was right – her only other option was to remain in the cellar, slowly dying from thirst at the mercy of the Death Eaters. 

“Okay,” Marina whispered. 

Relief flashed across Tom's face before he nodded curtly, immediately schooling his expression into one of determination. He pressed the parcel gently into her palm and seizing her by the other, uninjured arm, standing swiftly and pulling her up with him. Marina reeled at the sudden motion – the quickest that she had moved in days – and her vision immediately greyed out as the blood rushed from her head.

“Sorry,” she heard Tom say as she swooned on the spot, his arm moving around her to stop her from losing her balance. "But we do need to hurry.”

She nodded blindly, allowing him to guide her towards the hole in the wall and help her step through. 

“They’re going to notice that,” she said blandly, nodding at the broken bricks as Tom picked up the shovel again.

To her surprise, Tom scoffed. “They have no sense of how much physical effort that would take,” he said with a smirk. “They’ll readily believe that you dug your way out yourself.”

“They’d believe that a half-starved dehydrated Muggle with a broken arm can single-handedly dig through a stone wall and what looks like six feet of solid dirt?” Marina rasped disbelievingly.

Tom grimaced at her description as he left her to rest against the steep wall of the tunnel. He threw the shovel up onto the ground above, reached up, and pulled himself out after it. “Yes,” he said simply, reaching back down to offer her his hand again. “You have to remember that these people have never even spoken to a Muggle.” He paused, his lips pressing together. “Apart from torturing them, of course,” he added crisply. 

Marina took his hand and he immediately pulled her up with surprisingly fluid ease. Marina hopped a bit at the top, getting her balance as she very suddenly found herself up on the cold grass, blinking in the night air. She looked at Tom in surprise, who was assessing their surroundings with a vigilant eye. 

“How did you...” 

She noticed for the first time that Tom was not only taller than she had last seen him, but much more filled out.

Tom smirked again, noticing her bewilderment. “It _has_ been six years, Marina,” he said, picking up the shovel and replacing his hold on her arm. “I have hardly been idle. Come on, we have to make it to that hedge.”

Flabbergasted, Marina allowed him to cart her across the damp grass, only vaguely following what was happening. “Are you... trying to tell me...” she panted, wrestling with the concept, “that _you_ did some… some _silly Muggle exercises_ –”

“You’re the one who told me that wizards should think outside of their wands,” he said swiftly as he strode across the lawn, Marina having to take two steps for each of his own. “There are times when magic is an inappropriate or unavailable solution to a problem… and if you recall, it was rather frustrating to be so powerless the last time I couldn't use a wand. I would rather not be in that situation again,” he finished curtly, arriving at the hedge and pulling her into a crouch. “Wait here a second.”

Tom was craning his head to look over towards the front of Malfoy Manor, and Marina followed his line of sight curiously. Somewhere in the dark distance, she could hear voices growing louder and more agitated.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

“We needed a distraction to get past the wards at the boundary,” Tom muttered back, watching intently. “Crossing them sets off an alarm, and we can't Apparate from inside the grounds.”

Marina looked back as the voices raised to shouts. A bright burst of light lit up the trees towards the front of the manor as someone cast the first spell. Within seconds, the shouts were raucous and explosions of multi-coloured light lit up the Manor as a massive duel erupted. 

“What –” 

But Tom had already seized her arm and was pulling her off across the grass again, so quickly that Marina was in a brisk jog just to keep up. 

“Snatchers,” Tom said under his breath, “fairly easy to manipulate, really – they already suspected that the Death Eaters were bleeding them. Over the last few weeks I’ve been feeding them a line that they could earn a better deal if they staged a confrontation.”

Tom glanced down at her. “They don’t stand a chance, of course,” he said with an intimidating smile, "and when they run they’ll set off the wards. We can hide our exit among theirs.”

“How long – have you – been planning this?” gasped Marina, struggling to keep his pace as her aching head pounded and her body screamed against the motion. 

“Not this, exactly,” Tom said, not slowing their stride, “I just thought that it would be judicious to have something prepared, if I needed it.” 

They were beelining for the distant the edge of the massive grounds marked by a dark line of tall trees, but their progress was slow. Back behind them the duel was getting louder and the shouts sounded more desperate and scattered. Loud cracks began to pierce the night as the Snatchers fled, but their retreat only drew more and more Death Eaters. As if in response, Marina felt Tom increase their pace. 

“I expected them to take advantage of the Dark Lord’s absence right away,” Tom continued, his expression darkening as his tone turned derisive, “but I should not have assumed such a group of disorganised spell-slingers to be so proactive. Their deliberation forced me to wait for them to act, which was… not part of the plan.” He cast another look towards Marina and for the first time she realised how she must look. It can’t have been good since Tom returned his stony gaze to the treeline ahead with his lips tightly pressed together.

Suddenly, a horrible chill swept across them and the grass underfoot started crunching as it spontaneously frosted over. Marina went to look behind them, but Tom just pulled her forwards even faster. 

“Just keep going,” he said quickly, his breath visible in the icy air, “don’t stop.”

“What’s happening?” she asked, panicked. 

“Bellatrix must have called in the dementors,” Tom said, sounding tense.

The chill grew more intense, and Marina felt a leaden heaviness start to build in her body. Something dark swooped across the edge of her vision, and the feeling grew. She tried to alert Tom, but her throat was sluggish and her head was drooping without her consent. 

“Keep going,” he repeated firmly – but he sounded slightly frayed, like this hadn’t been a part of his plan either. 

Another dark figure flew past, and a horrible sensation overcame Marina like she’d been pushed off a great height and was plummeting, falling down in the cold air, sinking into the darkness –

“Stay awake,” came Tom’s commanding voice. “Stay awake, we’re nearly there –” 

Marina cracked her blurry eyes open and forced her rolling head upwards to see the treeline tantalisingly close, Tom holding nearly her whole weight as she stumbled along beside him. She looked to her side to see another dementor approaching, strangely graceful as its tattered black robes flowing around it in a non-existent breeze. It reached out its skeletal hand and the feeling overtook her again. Everything was pointless, they would never reach the trees, they would be caught and Voldemort would kill them both and nothing would ever be right again – 

“Marina,” Tom’s voice sounded very far away but Marina could hear the panic that was creeping in, “I can’t – we have to keep going – I can’t cast a Patronus –”

Marina’s cold fingers tightened numbly around the paper-wrapped parcel that she still held in her hand, and she focused on the feeling of the sharp creases that pressed into her skin, her teeth clattering and her her shivering nearly throwing off Tom’s arm as she pushed forward blindly. The trees were right there, right before them but more dark figures had appeared, closing in from behind and beside, gliding forward with hungry outstretched arms –

They fell the last step, hitting the frigid forest ground hard and knocking the breath from Marina’s lungs. Before she could even look up, Tom had his wand in hand and they were Apparating, the dementors behind them disappearing as the world dizzyingly twisted around them.

They landed with a thump, the cold suddenly vanished, the hard damp ground replaced by something soft. Marina could hear both herself and Tom panting hard from the exertion as they lay next to each other, somehow alive.

“We made it,” she breathed, barely believing it herself.

“On your feet.”

Marina froze. The voice was tense and alert, and decidedly not Tom’s – though she did recognise it. She raised her head to see a fire place with low crackling embers, an odd assortment of homely armchairs and couches with colourful woollen throws, and shelves cluttered with books, trinkets, and inscrutable magical contraptions.

Tom had Apparated them directly into the living room of the Burrow. Arthur Weasley stood above them with a storm on his face and his wand pointed directly at Tom’s chest. 

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  I'm like, weirdly nervous about this chapter, I've put off posting it for two days by pretending I needed to edit it more...  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	29. The Shiver and the Flint

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **AS MARINA STARED** at Mr Weasley’s outstretched wand and hardened expression, her whole body seemed to oscillate between disbelieving irritation and bone-deep exhaustion. It took her a moment to notice that Mr Weasley was not the only other person in the room; Mrs Weasley was standing right behind him, her face wrought with confliction and her wand at her side. Mrs Weasley’s attention was visibly torn between Marina’s gruesome condition and keeping a wary eye on Tom, and her lips were pressed tightly together, and her brow creased as she looked between the two.

“Now,” commanded Mr Weasley, voice low and dangerous, his wand hovering at Tom’s chest.

“Wait a second,” Marina said blearily, holding up a hand to Mr Weasley, “just listen –”

“No!” Arthur said loudly, stepping forward in agitation, his wand growing closer to Tom’s throat. “He’s had enough chances! He’s been at You-Know-Who’s side for months – don’t think I haven’t heard the rumours about You-Know-Who’s _heir!”_

“Marina,” said Mrs Weasley fearfully as she gestured for her. “Come here, dear.”

Marina hesitated, looking back at Tom. He had gone completely still, eyes fixed on the point of Mr Weasley’s wand, and Marina could not help but notice that while he had allowed the muddy shovel to drop from his grasp, he had conspicuously managed to keep his own wand in hand. She swallowed hard.

“I said, on your feet,” said Mr Weasley resolutely, not taking his eyes off Tom.

“Marina,” Mrs Weasley repeated breathlessly, clearly anticipating the worst.

“Go,” Tom said lowly, glancing at Marina.

She held his gaze a moment, trying to read what he intended to do – but Tom’s tense expression conveyed nothing. Marina grit her teeth and nodded slowly, pushing herself up and immediately faltering as her weakened body gave out underneath her.

In a flash, both Tom and Mrs Weasley were at her side helping her stand. Mr Weasley looked like he might say something at Tom’s sudden movement, but he pressed his lips together and resolved instead to track his wand on Tom’s heart. In the familiar safety of the Burrow, leaning into Mrs Weasley’s warm, steady embrace, Marina’s exhaustion was only growing in magnitude. The reality of finally being away from the Death Eaters was setting in, and the feeling of relief that was washing over her was so intense that tears prickled at her eyes.

When Mrs Weasley had a firm arm around Marina's waist keeping her upright, Tom stepped back. The second he did so, Mr Weasley inched his wand forward threateningly.

“Drop your wand,” he said firmly.

“I am not here to fight,” Tom said calmly, though he did not obey Arthur’s command. “I only wanted to –”

“Drop it,” Mr Weasley repeated, flicking his wand down emphatically.

Tom did not move, his impossibly composed gaze fixed on Mr Weasley.

Marina, who was being gently but relentlessly coaxed out of their way by Mrs Weasley, found the last dregs of her energy so that she could roll her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Tom,” she said tiredly, “just do it.”

Tom spared her a brief but irritated look. “Stay out of this,” he said tensely through clenched teeth, trying to keep an eye on Mr Weasley's wand.

Marina bristled. “If you wanted me to stay out of it, you should have left me in that bloody cellar,” she said acidly. “Now listen to him and drop your stupid wand, this is hardly a good time for a _duel_.”

Something worked in Tom’s jaw and he gave her another deeply annoyed look as if he really was regretting rescuing her. He let a small, aggravated breath from his nose and stiffly bent to place his wand on the ground beside him, slowly standing again with his hands slightly raised to demonstrate his cooperation.

Mr Weasley did not lower his wand, but he visibly relaxed and a great deal of the tension in the room seemed to dissipate immediately. His reaction reminded Marina of something that she had rarely been forced to consider; Tom was a very formidable – and potentially very dangerous – wizard. Mr Weasley’s degree of relief had only revealed the intensity of his fear of the threat that Tom could have posed, and Marina looked back at Tom’s stony glare, unable to avoid feeling a little intimidated. Perhaps she should tread more carefully around him now that he actually had a wand.

“Explain yourself,” Mr Weasley said, his voice low with gravitas. “You have two minutes.”

“Can it wait?” Tom said dryly, “Marina’s been tortured for five days now.”

Mr Weasley’s composure flickered.

“Tortured?” Mrs Weasley whispered, sounding mortified, immediately drawing Marina over to the couch and setting her down.

“Yeah,” Marina said grimly as Mrs Weasley turned her face to the side and pointed her wand at the deep cut on her brow. “At Malfoy Manor. They’ve been holding me there since Diagon Alley. Tom broke me out.”

There was a ringing silence.

“You got her out?” Mr Weasley asked suspiciously.

“Yes,” Tom replied smoothly, “that’s why I’m here.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trick?” Mr Weasley demanded.

“That would be a trick at great personal risk to myself, wouldn’t it?” said Tom evenly, hands still raised as he eyed Mr Weasley’s wand.

Mrs Weasley had finished healing the cut, and she looked over at Tom with emotion roiling on her face. “Why did you go with them, Tom?” she whispered.

For the first time since they had arrived, Marina saw something sad flicker in Tom’s eyes. “I had no choice,” he said intensely, “The Dark Lord had seen me in Ollivander’s memories and was already aware that the diary had been lost for a time. He knew who... and what I was.” Tom’s jaw tensed again. “He may have kept my true nature a secret from his Death Eaters, but they knew my face, if nothing else. If I had refused to go with them, the Dark Lord would have been forced to assume that my loyalties lay elsewhere, that I had revealed the secret of his Horcruxes, and he would have retaliated by burying those that remain so deep that we would never have a chance at recovering them.”

Marina frowned. “He doesn’t think that you told us about it at some point over the last six years?” she asked slowly, trying to keep her suspicion out of her voice.

It didn’t seem to work – Tom gave her a long, horribly measured look. “No, he does not,” he said softly, before turning back to Mr Weasley. “As it stands, I have managed to convince him that the diary was stolen from Malfoy Manor by thieves, sold to Borgin and Burkes, and picked up by a witless Muggle visitor who did not understand what they had found.” His eyes went to Marina again, but she said nothing, watching him from behind what she hoped was a blank expression. “The story amused him, of course,” Tom said quietly, “he seemed to consider the diary consuming your soul as your punishment for trespassing in the magical world.”

A tired breath fell from Marina. It was easy to picture Voldemort’s glee at the thought of a Muggle wandering into the magical world only to be devoured to fuel his own Horcrux, and without warning his voice was in her head, cold and filled with cruel delight.

_Were you so enraptured with his pretence that even now in the face of his true motives, you still wish to believe it?_

She shivered involuntarily, a sharp jerk that made her physically recoil.

Tom’s eyes were still on her as he continued. “I told him that my last few years were spent maintaining my pretence, purposefully placing myself close to the Order to learn what I could, and to bring what I learned back to him once he returned.”

“A convincing story,” breathed Mr Weasley, “ _very_ convincing.”

Tom’s expression hardened. “It would have been harder to convince him of the truth,” he said harshly, “The Dark Lord may pay me a great deal of attention, but he is not half as suspicious of me as he should be. He assumes that I am but a facsimile of himself, that we share the same thoughts and feelings.” Tom’s voice had grown bitter, and he looked almost disgusted as he continued. “It does not cross his mind that a part of his own soul might stray from its originator, his arrogance has made him blind to what holes exist in my alibi.” He hesitated, looking down in the first display of nerves Marina had seen. “But it has been my intention to find him for some time now, even before the Death Eaters recognised me.”

Mr Weasley immediately took a step towards him, and Tom raised his hands a fraction further. “Dumbledore instructed me to do so before he died,” he said quickly, “to join him, if I could.”

“Why would he do that?” Mrs Weasley asked whisperingly.

“I will explain,” said Tom slowly, “but later. I have to return to Malfoy Manor.”

“You will not be leaving,” Mr Weasley said dangerously. “You said that you brought You-Know-Who information about the Order… What did you tell him? Does he know that you worked with Dumbledore?”

“As I said, I will explain everything,” repeated Tom with forced patience, “but escaping with Marina required that I stage something of a dramatic distraction... it would be incredibly suspicious if I am noticed to be absent in its aftermath.”

Marina stared at him in surprise. “Wait...” she said, dumbfounded, “you’re going _back?_ ”

“I have to,” he said, a tense frown creasing his brow. “They will know that I helped you if I don’t.”

“Why does it matter?” Mr Weasley said loudly, his wand still at Tom’s heart. “If you rescued her, there’s no reason to go back.”

“If they know that I am only posing as a Death Eater, the Dark Lord will deduce that his enemies know of his Horcruxes,” Tom said all at once like he was annoyed. “As I said, if that comes to pass then it will become near impossible to find them, let alone deal to them.”

“But _why?”_ Marina said, exasperated. “ _Why_ pose as a Death Eater? Why did Dumbledore tell you to find him?”

Tom gave her another long look, but before he could speak, he was interrupted by the sounds of rapid footsteps coming down the stairs. A second later, Charlie appeared at the foot of the stairs in his pyjamas and a mop of sleep-mussed hair – though his expression was alert. When he spoke, his voice was tired and tense.

“What’s going on, mum? I heard voices –” Charlie froze. “Marina?” he said, near whisper.

Before she could even speak, Charlie had crossed the living room in breakneck speed and seized her from the couch, lifting her in a tight, somewhat painful hug.

“You’re back,” he said, voice heavy with relief. “We didn’t know if we’d ever see you again!”

“I’m okay,” Marina gasped, struggling to breath in his vice grip. “Just – just a bit bruised is all.”

“I would describe that as an understatement,” Tom said lowly, watching her.

Charlie looked around at him with an impassive expression, glancing at his parents as he gaged the situation. “Good to see you again, Tom,” he said carefully, eyes lingering on his father’s wand hovering right over Tom’s heart.

Tom gave a slow nod.

“Staying, are you?” Charlie asked with loaded nonchalance, helping Marina sit back down.

Instead of replying, Tom’s eyes flicked to Mr Weasley, whose face crumpled with indecision.

“Surely you understand, Tom,” said Mr Weasley, “we can’t just let you –”

“I will return to explain later,” Tom interrupted, growing visibly more irate as time dragged on. “Now that the Dark Lord is away travelling, his attention is no longer on me. I will be able to move much more freely.” He fixed Mr Weasley with an imploring look much like the one he had given Marina in the Manor cellar.

Mr Weasley let out a long, tense breath.

“Marina,” Mrs Weasley said gently. “What do you think?”

Marina’s eyes widened. “Why does that matter?” she asked, feeling put on the spot.

“You saw what happened tonight,” said Mrs Weasley as she grasped Marina’s shoulder reassuringly. “Can his story be trusted?”

She balked. Her decision to go with Tom in the Manor’s cellar seemed like low stakes compared to whether or not they let him saunter off back to Voldemort’s crew with the knowledge that the Weasleys were harbouring one of their escaped prisoners. 

“I – I don’t know,” she stammered, not meeting Tom’s watchful eyes, “I probably would have died in that cellar if he hadn’t come for me, but…” Marina bit her lip, trying to think of how to word her indecision. “I think you would know him better than I do now,” she said quietly. “It has been six years since I've seen him, after all.”

"Did You-Know-Who know?" Mr Weasley pressed. "Did he know that Tom had healed the other Horcruxes?"

Marina frowned. "I... I don't think so," she said. "Tom hid what happened with me from him."

There was a long silence.

“Arthur,” Mrs Weasley said, standing with her hand still on Marina’s shoulder. “You said yourself after the wedding, it didn’t make any sense for Tom to just –”

“If this is a lie, he could destroy us,” Mr Weasley said quietly. “One word to the Death Eaters, and –”

“Dumbledore trusted him,” Charlie interrupted, then gave a small shrug. “Eventually, at least. That has to mean something, right? I mean, are we saying that he pulled the wool over Dumbledore’s eyes?”

Mr Weasley hesitated, though his wand did not drop.

But Mrs Weasley had clearly made up her own mind – she stepped towards them and pushed down Mr Weasley’s outstretched wand. “Oh stop it, Arthur, he's not just some stranger, it's _Tom_. He’s spent every Christmas with us since for the last five years, for Merlin's sake,” she said sternly. “Besides, Charlie is right – If Dumbledore trusted him, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t.” She turned to Tom with a firm look on her face and her hands on her hips. Even standing a good foot shorter than him, she was an daunting sight to behold. “You should have told us,” said Mrs Weasley crossly, “we’ve been worried sick about you.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom said immediately. He looked more intimidated of Mrs Weasley than he had the entire time Mr Weasley had him at wand-point. “The Dark Lord was insistent on keeping me close, it was impossible to get away until now.”

“Still,” said Mrs Weasley, eyes narrowing, “you’ll be helping Charlie with the gnomes when you’re back, and not a word about it.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Tom’s mouth. “I should be going,” he said, finally lowering his hands. “They will have noticed my absence by now.”

“When will you be back?” asked Mr Weasley quickly.

“I’m not sure,” said Tom honestly. “I will come as soon as I can.”

Mrs Weasley stepped towards him and grasped his hands. “Be careful,” she said seriously, before a smile crinkled her eyes. “It’s good to see you again, dear.”

Tom pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“Oh come here,” Mrs Weasley said busily, pulling him down towards her and making him stoop significantly so that she could give him a tight hug.

Marina stared. Though his hands were politely on Mrs Weasley’s back and his expression was composed, he was not pulling away. It was the most affection she had ever seen from him.

“Off you go then,” Mrs Weasley said waveringly, forcing herself to smile as she let him go. "Be careful," she said again, like she couldn't help herself.

Tom stood to his full height again and his hand twitched at his side – without a sound, his wand leapt from the ground into his grasp. He gave Mr Weasley a slightly tense nod, which he returned.

“See you later, Tom,” Charlie said from beside Marina, “give that snake of his a good kick from me, won’t you?”

Tom smirked. “If I could get close enough, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Marina’s eyes flashed to his face. Was he not allowed near Nagini? Did Voldemort know what would happen if he did so? Did that mean that Voldemort knew about –

“I will be back soon,” Tom said quietly, watching Marina’s face like he could hear the questions whirring in her head.

Marina opened her mouth to say something, to say _‘fuck the Death Eaters’_ and ask him to explain it all now, to dispel the horrible unknowing that writhed in her chest, to tell her where he went with Dumbledore for all those years, to ask if he knew anything about what Harry was doing, to thank him for getting her out of Malfoy Manor –

But he had already turned away, raised his wand, and was gone with a crisp snap that didn’t echo.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

It was another two hours before Marina finally sunk into bed, barely able to keep her eyes propped open. Her fingers were wrinkled from the long, somewhat painful bath she had taken, her skin still red from the steaming hot water. Mrs Weasley had helped her wash away the grime, blood, and sweat caked to her body, and had detangled the lumps of filthy hair, rinsing it until it finally looked blonde again. The cuts and bruises had been mostly taken care of, but her broken arm was slightly harder to fix – before bandaging it, Mrs Weasley had slathered it in a strange-smelling poultice that made Marina feel very dizzy, but Mrs Weasley swore would help it heal, and it at least didn't hurt anymore.

A gentle knock came at her door and Marina groggily pushed herself up.

“Yeah?”

Charlie pushed the door open and gave her a rueful smile. “How are you feeling?”

Marina sighed and collapsed back onto the bed as he entered and sat next to her. “I am significantly cleaner,” she said reasonably.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Charlie sniggered, “no offense but I’ve cleaned out dragon pens that smell better than you when you arrived.”

“Thanks Charlie,” she said sarcastically, “how about I leave you underground for a week and see how good you smell?”

“You didn’t answer my question though,” Charlie deflected lightly. “How are you feeling?”

Marina shifted uncomfortably. She had deliberately kept herself from dwelling too much on the impossibly tangled mess of emotions that was twisting in her chest, sinking instead into the slow safety that permeated being back in the Burrow. “Fine,” she said blandly.

Charlie stared at her. “Fine,” he repeated, a little incredulously.

“Yeah,” Marina shifted again, “anyway, I am pretty tired so –”

“Marina,” Charlie interrupted gently, “I’m here to talk if you need me.”

“I know,” she said awkwardly, looking at her hands. “I just – I haven’t been thinking about it. I – I can’t.” A frown deepened on her brow and her fingers twisted around each other.

Charlie nodded. “You’ve been through a lot,” he said quietly, “it’s okay if it takes a while.”

She nodded, feeling very much like she was trying to edge out of a spotlight shining directly at her.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, “I brought you this.” He pulled Tom’s Christmas present from his pocket and handed it out to her. “You left it in the lounge,” he said, giving it a cursory look-over, “what is it?”

“Oh,” Marina said, staring at it in surprise. She had forgotten about it again. “It’s uh, it’s a present. From Tom.”

“He brought you a present in jail?” Charlie asked dryly.

“No – well yes, but he gave it to me ages ago,” she said, taking it. The parcel was very worn, the edges of the paper had gone all soft and fluffy like it had been handled a lot. “I never had the chance to open it…”

“Go on then,” said Charlie, grinning. “Lets see what he got you.”

Marina felt strangely nervous, her fingers trembling slightly as she tugged at the frayed twine and the knot slowly gave way. She laid the string aside and found the edge of the paper, pulling it away as gently as she could – the thought of tearing it was unbearable. The paper was so weathered that it barely made a sound as it opened, and there, nestled inside was what appeared to be a very strange-looking crystal. It was deep crimson, but the light from the lamp beside her caught it in such a way that made it look like flames were twisting around inside of it. She rolled it off the paper and the second that it touched her hand, a tingling warmth erupted on her skin and spread up her arm like she had plunged it back into her bathwater.

“What is it?” she asked, turning it around in the light and watching the colours dance across it, orange, red, purple, bright blistering yellow, electric blue –

“It can’t be,” Charlie said disbelievingly. “Pass it here?”

She handed it over and Charlie examined it closely. “It has to be,” he said excitedly. “It’s a phoenix flint.”

“A what?” said Marina, a little bit surprised she hadn’t heard of it.

“A phoenix flint,” he repeated, grinning, “they’re a bit of a mystery actually – crystals that appear in the guts of phoenixes and no one knows how or why. They’ll spit up a pellet every now and then and if you’re lucky there’ll be a flint inside.” Charlie held the crystal up and admired the colours himself. “They’re bloody expensive, though. How did Tom get his hands on one?” he mused, sounding very impressed. “They go for about two hundred Galleons a pop.”

“ _Two hundred_ Galleons?” Marina exclaimed, staring at the little rock. “ _Why_?”

“They’re said to have healing properties,” Charlie said.

“Damn,” said Marina, taking the flint again. “I just thought it was a pretty rock.”

“I mean, it is a pretty rock,” Charlie smirked. “They don’t actually have healing properties, it’s just a myth.”

“It does warm you up though,” she murmured.

“So does a warming charm,” Charlie shrugged. “Phoenix flints are just bloody rare.”

Marina was captivated by the flint, turning it over and over again in the light, hypnotised by the glimmering colours.

“You’re such a Niffler,” Charlie laughed. “I can see why he got it for you.”

“ _How_ did he get it?” she wondered out loud. “I don’t think Tom’s ever had two hundred Galleons in his life –”

Marina cut herself off. Suddenly she was back at Dumbledore’s office feeding Fawkes treats, wiping the sooty powder from her fingers, and Dumbledore was saying –

_“…only last week Fawkes regurgitated a wad of undigested plant remains into his lap.”_

Marina huffed a laugh. “Dumbledore’s phoenix vomited it on him,” she said to Charlie’s questioning gaze.

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “I would have sold it,” he said wryly.

Marina gave him a dry look. “Gee, thanks,” she drawled. “I’m glad Tom found it and not you.”

“Hey, two hundred Galleons is a lot of money,” he grinned. “I mean, I like you, but _two hundred Galleons_ , Marina.”

“Really feeling the love,” she rolled her eyes, though the effect was ruined when she was forced to stifle a massive yawn.

“I’ll let you get some sleep then,” he said, standing.

“Alright,” said Marina sleepily, giving him a tired smile. “Hey, it’s really good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Charlie said warmly, mussing her hair. “Well, it is _now_ , I gotta say when I gave you that hug, the stench nearly knocked me out –”

“Alright,” Marina said loudly, pushing his arm away, “goodnight, I’m sick of you now.”

Charlie raised his hands in mock surrender and backed away. “See you in the morning, stinky.”

“Bye asshole,” she called as he shut the door.

In the ringing silence left in his wake, Marina placed both phoenix flint and the frazzled string back into the worn paper and left the parcel on the bedside table. and flicked off the light, snuggling down into the blankets. In the darkness, the chill pressed in on her cheeks and prickled down her neck.

Marina thought of Tom without meaning to, her brain replayed the image of him appearing through the hole in the wall, his face smeared with dirt and his hair plastered to his forehead. She wondered what he had told the Death Eaters when he’d gotten back to the Manor, if they had believed whatever story he had spun for them. If they hadn’t believed him, if at that very moment they were doing horrible things to him, if she would ever see him again –

She sighed sharply, flinging her non-broken arm across her face and tried to force her thoughts elsewhere – but it was no good. Her mind was stuttering, flashes of the last 24 hours appearing in shattered shards. Bellatrix’s cruel smile, Ollivander’s cries on the stairs. Lying on the cold floor in that cellar, convinced everything had been for nothing, facing down her own death. Kneeling before Voldemort, his icy fingers on her face, her head splitting open as he broke into her mind, those red eyes boring into hers. The cold green flash of his killing curse and the dull thud of Jin’s body hitting the –

Marina’s involuntary shiver returned, jerking her hard and forcing her to draw in a sharp breath like she’d been shocked. Breathing heavily, Marina reached for the phoenix flint again. She tugged the blankets up over her head and brought the crystal close to her chest, relishing in the tingling warmth that spread up her arm and across her body, melting back the cold tension that had built there and sending her - finally - into a fathomless sleep.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  I have a new laptop!!! And.... it's PINK. I'm in love with it tbh. But point being - writing is back in my regular life schedule!!! :)  
>  My sister started making Seven Devils vine compilations and they're the funniest thing I've ever seen I'm so proud of her. I started making a playlist on spotify for the story too, if any of that stuff interests you let me know and I'll find a way to share it lol.  
>  Hope everyone is keeping as safe as you can, especially my readers from the States. It's hard to watch what's going on there from the outside, I can only imagine what it's like from the inside.  
>  Love you guys, hope you're doing okay <3  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	30. A Dark Fever

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **IT WAS COLD** and dark, her footsteps echoing eerily on the stone floor even as she tried to step gently. She couldn’t tell which room of the Manor she was in, but that was the last thing on her mind. He was close. She could feel it, she could sense his red eyes watching her from the indiscriminate blackness that haunted every edge and corner.

There was a small, hollow sound somewhere behind her like a stone falling down a deep well and Marina whipped around, but there was nothing there. Her eyes scanned the shadows, trying to keep her breath even as she searched for a sign of him. The darkness yielded nothing.

Suddenly his laugh came from behind her, high and cold, and she spun on her heel again only to see –

“Tom?” she asked, staring at him.

Tom was silent. Something about the light made him look different, its deep contrast casting him as if he had been painted in black and white, half of his face indistinguishable from the shadows behind him, the other half pale and striking with sharp edges and a harshness that made Marina frown uneasily.

“What’s going on?” Marina asked shakily, stepping towards him. “Where –”

Tom raised his hand out towards her and she stilled, fearing the worst – but he wasn’t pointing his wand at her. In his hand was a large, curved object coloured a distinctive yellowed ivory, and one end shaved itself into a deadly point.

“Is that… a tooth?” she whispered. She moved again, seeing the jagged edge of its wider end and the blood splattered across it as if he had torn it out seconds prior. Somehow, she recognised it. “A basilisk fang?” Marina frowned deeper, looking up at Tom. “Where did you get that?”

He just held it to her, eyes burning. Something felt wrong. Unease curled in her stomach and she looked between the fang and Tom’s intense expression.

“I’m not taking that,” she said slowly.

Tom stepped closer, and Marina retreated in kind. “Stop it, you’re scaring me,” she said, voice trembling.

“Take it,” he said intently.

“Stop it,” she said, louder.

But Tom was unrelenting. “You know it has to be done,” he said.

“Stop it!” Marina yelled.

But the fang was in her hand all the same, and she stared at it in horror.

“It was always going to be like this,” said Tom. His voice came from everywhere, like he was speaking from every shadow that encircled them all at once.

“No, I –” Marina looked up to argue.

She froze. Her breath jammed in her throat and it felt like the floor had dropped from under her. Her hand was on Tom’s chest, and the fang was buried in his heart.

Marina leapt backwards, a strangled cry of horror coming from her throat and tears erupting from her eyes.

“You can’t change it,” said Tom. A dark stain billowed out around the fang, unmissable on the stark white of his shirt. “It has to be like this.”

“No!” she shouted – but Tom was falling, and she was beside him, crying hard. Her hands dancing uselessly around the fang jutting from his chest, the fabric of his shirt already saturated.

Tom coughed and dark blood spilled from his lips and ran down his neck.

 _Too dark_ , Marina realised, _not red… black_. She looked at her hands – they were stained black too. It wasn’t blood. Her heart dropped, her body going cold.

It was ink.

Her eyes were wide with horror as she raised them to Tom’s face. He was staring back at her, ink trickling from his mouth, his nose, his eyes, pooling beneath him and spilling out in an ever-expanding blackness –

“Neither can live while the other survives,” Tom whispered.

He fell limp.

Marina screamed. It was so deep and resonating that it couldn’t possibly be coming from her. Could she make a sound like that? A sound that loud and raw and devastated? An aching sound that her body wasn’t big enough to contain, and as it tore itself from deep in her chest it felt like it was ripping her in half –

“Marina! Wake up! Marina!”

Her eyes snapped open. She was bolt upright in Ginny’s bed, still screaming as Mrs Weasley shook her hard.

The scream stuttered and was immediately replaced by sobs as she collapsed into Mrs Weasley’s arms. Marina only came to notice the slow, reassuring circles that she was rubbing on her back much later when her cries started to slow.

“It’s alright,” Mrs Weasley was saying softly, “it was just a dream, you’re safe, everything’s alright…”

Marina knew from experience that Charlie was hovering beside them and that Mr Weasley was standing just outside the door with a cup of tea in hand, waiting for the right moment to come in. It was not the first time Marina had woken the house screaming in the middle of the night since coming back from Malfoy Manor.

“It’s just a dream,” soothed Mrs Weasley, stroking her hair. “It’s gone now, it was just a bad dream.”

Tom’s last words echoed in her head, repeating again and again. With her face pressed tightly into Mrs Weasley’s hug, Marina’s expression was free to morph from one of fear and despair into one of doubt.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“Fred and George are coming to stay for the weekend,” said Mrs Weasley, placing a fried egg next to the two sausages on Marina’s plate. “They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

Charlie sighed loudly and speared a sausage off Marina’s plate. “Don’t suppose I could head off back to Romania?” he said dryly.

Marina gave him a quizzical look, surprised at his response.

“They pester me non-stop when they get the chance,” Charlie grumbled, noticing her expression. “Keep trying to convince me to source them some dragon scales for their nefarious purposes –”

“You are not to give them anything they ask for,” Mrs Weasley said curtly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Charlie said, scandalised. "Promote yet _another_ industry that exploits dragon products? Nah, they can figure out something else for those Fire-Breathing Fancies.”

“Fire-Breathing Fancies?” Mrs Weasley repeated sharply.

Charlie reddened, looking like he had said too much. “Just a hypothetical, mum,” he said quickly.

Mrs Weasley’s eyes narrowed, but she benevolently turned away. Charlie looked immensely relieved.

“The twins’ll kill me if I let her know about their new stuff again,” he muttered to Marina, “they still haven’t forgiven me for the time I accidentally let slip that they’d bred Pygmie Puffs in the garden shed –”

Without warning, a sharp shiver wracked through Marina’s body, jerking her hand hard enough to send her cup of tea flying across the kitchen. It hit the edge of the counter hard enough to break off its handle, the scalding contents spilling everywhere.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, leaping to seize the cloth off the bench and dab furiously at the dripping tea. “I – I don’t know why that keeps happening, I’m so –”

“Go sit down, dear,” Mrs Weasley said, drawing her wand. “I’ll take care of that.”

“I’m sorry,” Marina said again, picking up the two halves of the mug and looking at them despondently. It had been her favourite mug. “I don’t know what came over me, I –”

“Marina,” Mrs Weasley said, a bit more firmly. “Go sit down, we’ll sort this.” She gave Charlie a pointed look and he instantly jumped to attention, reaching for his sweater beside him to find his wand.

Mrs Weasley began muttering charms at the mess, and Marina fled at once, feeling mortified. She rounded the corner into the lounge and sat heavily on the couch, drawing the knitted quilt around her body as tightly as she could. The shivers came at random at least once every few hours, hard enough to make her breath hiss in through her teeth and her face crumple up.

She had lied, of course, she knew what caused them. If her mind strayed for even a fraction of a second towards Malfoy Manor, towards Voldemort, towards anything she had seen during those five days, it was as if her body tried to reject the memories manually, her mind pulling away from them so hard that her body became caught up in its efforts.

Marina stared blankly out of the window, watching the chickens peck aimlessly at the grass. It had been a long time – two weeks to be exact – since she’d been allowed outside. Mr and Mrs Weasley’s paranoia that the house was being watched had increased tenfold since Tom had brought her back to the Burrow since he was yet to return to fully corroborate his story.

Two weeks of tension, of second-thoughts and doubts, of fear, and of nightmares.

“Here,” came Charlie’s voice.

Marina hadn’t heard him approach, and started a bit. “Oh,” she said, seeing the fresh steaming cup of tea in his hands, “right, thanks.”

She took it, but didn’t raise it to her lips, instead holding it close to her chest like a candle at a vigil. Marina breathed deeply, trying to calm her still-racing heart.

“You’re a lot jumpier now,” Charlie said quietly.

“No shit,” said Marina without missing a beat.

He gave her a long, sad look that she didn’t like. She gave a curt sigh. “What are we doing today, then?”

Thankfully, Charlie allowed her to change the subject without comment. “We have to feed the ghoul at some point,” he said, jerking his chin up towards the stairs. “And mum asked if we could change the sheets in Fred and George’s room before they –”

Charlie was interrupted by a crisp snapping noise, and just like that, Tom was standing before them. Marina nearly flung the tea across the room again.

He was dressed in smart, black robes that were more formal and less flowing than those of the Death Eaters, and the colour drew his skin out in contrast and made his hair seem even blacker. Marina forcefully avoided thinking about her nightmare and instead turned her attention to the barrage of emotions that had erupted in her chest at Tom’s appearance, the most pressing of which was a bizarre and bubbling anger.

“Apologies for the delay,” said Tom, smoothly placing his wand on the mantlepiece without being asked.

“Merlin’s beard, Tom,” exclaimed Charlie, replacing his own wand in his pocket, having drawn it in a panic. “You scared me half to –”

“TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE!”

The three of them froze. Mrs Weasley had appeared at the edge of the lounge holding soapy frying pan in one hand and fury written all over her face, and wave of gratuitous excitement rolled through Marina like Mrs Weasley’s obvious display of anger was some sort of outlet for her own inexplicable frustration.

“Two weeks,” Mrs Weasley said dangerously, “ _two weeks_ and not a word! We’ve been worried _sick_ , waiting for the Death Eaters to kick down the door –!”

“I have not had the chance to –” Tom began, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“You best hope that’s the truth, young man!” Mrs Weasley continued loudly, brandishing the frying pan at him. “Marina locked up inside, the whole house on high alert – Arthur’s already being watched like an augurey at work! We don’t need anything else to worry about!”

The soapy pan waved in front of Tom’s baffled face as Mrs Weasley gesticulated angrily. He seemed at a loss for words.

“Sit down,” Mrs Weasley commanded, finally lowering the pan, “you’ll have to wait until Arthur’s home tonight before telling us about Dumbledore and the like. Merlin knows he's not going to want to miss it.”

Tom looked like he might protest, and Mrs Weasley threateningly raised the pan again. “Sit down,” she said, eyes narrowing.

Mrs Weasley watched as Tom did as he was told, slowly taking a seat in the faded yellow armchair opposite Marina who was fighting to keep a smirk off her face. Mrs Weasley wheeled around and returned to the kitchen where angry bustling and clanging began as she furiously continued to clean up from breakfast. There was an awkward pause.

“So,” Marina said blandly, “how have you been?”

Both Tom and Charlie shot her simultaneous and equally dry looks.

“What?” she said, defensively. “Just trying to be sociable...”

“Yes, thank you for asking,” Tom snapped with distinct sarcasm. Mrs Weasley’s reception had obviously rubbed him the wrong way, and his fingers were restless with irritation on the arms of his chair. “May I remind you that I have spent the last two weeks painstakingly rebuilding credibility with the Death Eaters after a display of incredibly suspicious behaviour that would have resulted in my immediate execution were I anyone else?” He looked very bitter, and his voice had grown tense and sharp. “A task that has become vastly more challenging without the Dark Lord’s presence and his constant asseveration of my validity, and required that I aid in torturing the snatchers who attempted to rebel - which they did only due to _my_ influence, lest we forget.”

The noises from the kitchen had gone silent and Marina’s budding smirk was long gone, but Tom was still not finished.

“All of which was only necessary because I risked both my life and the success of a plan two years in the making to ensure that you weren’t killed” – he waved a hand at Marina with no sign of pause of slowing down – “only to be met with suspicion and hostility.”

“Tom,” Charlie said quietly, “no one was trying to say that it’s been easy, but –”

“It wasn’t,” Tom interrupted sharply. His eyes were cold as he turned to Marina and took in her pyjamas, the blanket around her shoulders, the mug in her hands. When he spoke next, his voice was rich with sarcasm. “Though I’m very sorry to hear that you’ve had to sit indoors for a bit.”

Marina’s skin burned, anger, embarrassment, and hurt erupting inside of her. She put down the mug as gently as she could, her hands shaking.

“That’s not fair, Tom,” Charlie said loudly, “it’s not exactly been fair flying for us –”

If Tom replied, Marina didn’t hear it. She stood and beelined for the kitchen, ignoring Mrs Weasley calling her name as she shoved through the door and emerged onto the front yard and the cool morning sun. If Tom had smoothed things over with the Death Eaters, she didn’t have to hide inside anymore, and she could only assume that someone would have stopped her from leaving if the threat really did linger.

Marina marched directionless across the dewy lawn, her feet plastered with wet blades of grass and the hem of her pyjama pants soaking wet within seconds. She didn’t care. Anger was throbbing under her skin and her face felt hot. She pressed her cold fingers against her burning cheeks, knowing without seeing them that they were bright red. Wrapping her arms around herself against the November chill, she kept walking, knowing that she needed to wait for the anger to fade.

It didn’t take long. The fresh morning was bright and cold, the sky was pale blue, tinged yellow and pink, the softly strewn clouds near the horizon stained a vivid orange by the rising sun. Birds were singing in the nearby trees, and Marina lifted herself to sit on the fence at the edge of the field to listen. She stayed there for a long time, enjoying the countryside and its stillness, the slow fade of the morning fog, and the gentle swell of the birdsong.

Soon, the sun was full in the sky and bathing her face in light, the warmth tingling on her skin as it battled with the chill from the air. Looking back towards the Burrow, a flicker of movement caught her eye near the side of the garden shed. Across the field, dew now glittering in the sunlight, a sound caught up with the movement – a dull thwack of an axe splitting wood. Someone was chopping firewood.

Marina hesitated, watching. On a normal day she’d have assumed it was Charlie who did things by hand much more than the average wizard, but even at a distance she could see that the figure had black hair, not red. She hopped down off the fence and made her way towards him, the distance giving her plenty of time to think about what the hell she was going to say. Where should she start? With the last two weeks? With Malfoy Manor? With Voldemort? With her six-year absence? With Dumbledore? With Moody?

Her bare toes were white with cold by the time she drew close and she still had no plan. Upon closer inspection, Marina could see that Tom had changed into Muggle clothes and was now sporting a dark jumper that he’d rolled up to his elbows, exposing a hint of the white shirt underneath. His face was focused on his task as he placed another log on the chopping block, barely glancing at her as he pulled back the axe and swung it hard. The log split easily.

“So you do everything by hand, now?” Marina asked dryly. “Are you sure you're the same Tom Riddle I coaxed out of that diary?”

Tom kicked the two halves of the log towards the large pile of firewood beside him and readied another. “No,” he said shortly, not looking at her. “I’m not.”

He swung the axe again, much harder than was necessary. Marina eyed the huge pile of firewood, and the stacks of logs already prepped against the stone wall of the Burrow – there was no need for Tom to be adding any more. She turned her attention to his face, his intense expression and the hard line of his mouth, the light sheen of sweat on his brow from the exertion.

“Are you alright?” she asked slowly.

He wrenched the axe from where it was deeply embedded in the block, and shot her a look.

“Stupid question,” Marina muttered, folding her arms tightly around her body. “I just mean…” she nodded pointedly towards him, “doesn’t look like you’re doing that for utilitarian reasons.”

Tom scoffed before steadying another log. “Why would you think that?”

The axe landed hard and the poor log before him sprang in opposite directions.

“Come on, Tom,” Marina said wryly, “ever since I met you, you’ve been an open book.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “You’re not funny,” he said after a moment, though his expression had lost some of its intensity.

“That was hilarious, and you know it,” Marina said, sniggering at her own joke.

Tom gave her a long look that she couldn’t decipher, only breaking it by turning to pick up another log. “Molly told me about… how you’ve been,” he said slowly.

Marina stiffened. “What did she say?” she asked quickly.

With a dull thunk, another log was split in two. “She said that you’re having trouble sleeping,” he said, frowning.

“Ah well,” Marina said loudly, “that’s nothing compared to what you were talking about.”

His expression instantly grew taut. “That’s not what I –”

“No no,” she said, looking down at her hands, frowning. “I get it, no stupid nightmare could compare with what you’ve been through. You’ve been out there actually in danger and I’ve been sitting around at home, so –”

“Marina,” he said, tone so sharp that she instinctively looked up to meet his gaze. He had left the axe buried in the block and had stepped towards her, expression strangely intense. “That was a thoughtless thing for me to say. I’m sorry.”

Marina stared, much longer than she meant to. Was he… was that… a genuine apology?

“Er… okay,” she said slowly.

Tom nodded once, curt and decisive, and wrenched the axe from the block. Marina watched him as he resumed his task, her eye more critical than it had been before. She suddenly couldn’t help but notice the differences in him, the ways that six years had changed his face, how his forearms were slightly darker on top than underneath, the ease with which he moved, how he was somehow even taller. The Tom she knew would never voluntarily wear Muggle clothes, or chop wood by hand for the catharsis of it, or apologise to her like that. He still looked like Tom, but Marina was struck with how little she knew the person before her, the years she’d been gone stretching out like it was a physical distance between them.

There was something else different, too subtle for her to pinpoint but enough for her to feel its presence. Her eyes raked across him as she desperately tried to single it out.

“What is it?” Tom asked curtly as he nudged a log into place with his foot.

Marina startled. “Nothing,” she said, too quickly.

He gave her a sceptical look. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not staring,” Marina said, looking away to demonstrate her point.

She practically heard him roll his eyes, and a bit of her embarrassment gave way to a swell of bizarre relief that at least in some ways he was still very much the same Tom. “You're hardly very convincing,” he said monotonously.

“You’re different,” she blurted out.

Tom stopped, frozen in the moment right before he was about to swing the axe. “Of course I am,” he said evenly. “It’s been six years.”

“I know, it’s just…” Marina hesitated, “well, last time I saw you, I probably could have offered you free immortality, the Elder wand, Salazar Slytherin’s autograph, and one free pass to sock Dumbledore in the face and you still probably wouldn’t have touched an axe, let alone…” she gestured weakly at all of him. “And – no offense, but I’d never have expected an apology like that from you, either.”

Tom’s composed expression did not move, but it gained a strangely hard undertone. “I would have thought that you’d approve of the change,” he said smoothly, his voice betrayed nothing of the hardness on his face. “I seem to recall receiving rather a lot of criticism from you for lacking in that regard.”

“Sure,” she said uncertainly, “it’s just… weird.”

His eyes flashed. “Perhaps it would not seem so strange to you had you been there these last few years.”

Marina’s irritation flared, but she ignored it. “I didn’t choose to not be there,” she said, frowning.

“And I didn’t choose to change,” he said immediately. “Though it appears that doing so has somehow compromised your trust in me.”

Marina stared a moment, taken aback. “That’s not why I don’t trust you,” she said without thinking.

His expression grew taut, and he swung the axe so hard into the log that one of its pieces flew close enough to Marina’s feet that she scooted back a bit.

Marina was scrambling. “Wait, that’s – that’s not what I –”

“Is it so easy to break your trust in me, too?” Tom said angrily. “It was easy enough to break _theirs,_ ” he jerked his head towards the Burrow, the sting in his voice palpable. “Will it always be this way? Does it matter how long or how hard I try, how much I change if all it takes is a single moment of suspicion before I am reduced back to the child that came out of that diary in their eyes?”

“That’s not fair,” Marina said sharply, “it’s not like you just took a bit too long getting back from the store, Tom, you ran off to join the _Death Eaters,_ what were they supposed to –”

“On Dumbledore’s orders!” he said loudly, throwing the axe to the ground. “On the _foolish_ assumption that they might have at least some faith in who I have become!”

“Don’t you get that the reason they were so upset is because they _do_ trust you?” Marina said passionately. “Six years ago, no one would have been that surprised if you’d run off to V –”

Tom’s eyes grew alarmed, and Marina caught herself.

“– to You-Know-Who, because no one expected anything else. But now they know that you’re better than that! Now, that would be breaking their trust!”

“If they were so sure that I knew better, then why would they not believe me once I returned?” he said forcefully, stepping closer. He was still alight with fervour but now he seemed less angry and more desperate, like he was seeking out the logic in her words so that he could safely believe them.

“They were hurt, Tom,” said Marina, barely noticing that she had stepped forward to meet him. “That’s the downside to getting close to people, you know, they have the unprecedented ability to hurt you. And thinking that you’d abandoned them for the Death Eaters? After everything? That would’ve hurt a hell of a lot.”

Tom moved forward again, slowly, almost brittle in his intensity. “And you?”

“What about me?” Marina asked, confused.

His voice fell dangerously quiet, though Marina had no trouble hearing him – they were standing very close now. “Where you hurt because you knew me to be better than that? Is that where your suspicion stemmed?” His eyes roamed her face like he was searching for the answer before she had the chance to offer it.

The wind fell from her sails. “I…”

“You said it yourself,” Tom said, his voice somewhere between soft and intense. “you don’t know me anymore.”

Marina felt exposed, but she couldn’t look away. “No,” she admitted, near whisper. “No, I was just… disappointed.”

Tom’s jaw tensed. “In me.”

He didn’t say it like it was a question.

“Yes, but in myself, too.” Marina didn’t bother to give him enough time to ask, pre-empting the questioning look he gave her. “If you’d really joined them,” she said, fighting to keep her voice from wavering, “everything would have been for nothing. I’d have failed everyone, Dumbledore, the Order, myself… you.” She swallowed hard. Tom had gone very still. “I thought I had,” she whispered. “When I saw you there. I thought…”

“I know what you thought,” he said tensely.

There was a horrible pause. Marina scoured her brain for something else to say, desperate to dispel the tension between them. “That’s what I actually meant before, by the way,” she said quickly. “That was the reason I struggled to trust you, because I was really hurt and disappointed. It has nothing to do with how different you are.”

“You seem very preoccupied with how different I am,” he said, sounding amused. He gave her a measured look. “You’re different, too, I suppose.”

“How can I be different?” she blurted out, “it’s only been like, two months for me.”

“Yes well, rather a lot has happened, hasn’t it,” he said dryly.

Marina laughed, a low huff of agreement at this understatement. He was right of course, too much had happened – but it was odd to think that it had changed her, that she was different too.

All at once, Marina became painfully aware of their proximity. She took a step back at once. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” she said quickly, “but I hope that you can see why.”

He nodded, eyes still on her. He hadn’t moved.

“I’m going inside,” said Marina, suddenly awkward, walking backwards towards the house. “I’ll see you later.”

She spun around and hurried towards the kitchen door. Behind her, she heard Tom pick up the axe and the thud of it splitting another log. Marina pressed her fingers to her cheeks again, and found them inexplicably hot once more.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•  
>  Here it is folks, the vine comp my sister made:  
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfWSFHS6NtQ  
>  If you want more, I have more lmaoooo.  
>  Also, playlist of random songs that make me think of this story. I am working on Tom's one, but this one's Marina's. If you have song suggestions, feel free to let me know :D  
>  https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0KPOiOw8S45Cit8sVPeFd8?si=pV7uXmbDS0WNr6dhmlWv2A  
>  The title of this chapter came from the first song 'Goliath' which is both my fave song at the moment, and also my go-to for this story.  
>  Thank you everyone!!  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	31. The Last Devil

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA STAUNCHLY AVOIDED** Tom for the rest of the day, unable to avoid the fact that something about him made her feel strangely uncomfortable. She threw herself into her tasks with such fervour that the ghoul in the attic was munching on fresh rat carcasses and the beds in the twins’ room were changed before Charlie even got around to finding her to help. When she passed the stairs, she could hear Tom downstairs talking softly with Mrs Weasley, and had decided on the spot that they might as well do all the bedrooms whilst they were at it. Charlie – who was less enthusiastic about the plan – spent the next three hours feigning a very dramatic and theatrical sullenness as they went from room to room hauling fresh sheets and baskets of old ones, but Marina was just glad to have something to keep her mind occupied by something other than their guest.

She opted to bypass lunch, seizing an apple instead and escaping into the garden to pull carrots for their dinner – only to just so happen to notice that the herb garden was looking a bit shabby. Marina managed to sink an additional two hours into weeding and tidying it until Charlie came out and began teasing her mercilessly for trying to brush all the dirt from the grout between the bricks of the path. However, Tom’s lingering presence meant that the ground floor was still struck out-of-bounds, so Marina furiously scrubbed the dirt from her nails in the kitchen sink, seized a huge basket of clean clothes from the laundry, and lugged it upstairs at a record pace.

Too soon did the sky fall dark, and the kitchen door banged shut announcing Mr Weasley’s return home. Marina shot Charlie a surprised look where he was helping her sort and fold the laundry on the floor of her temporary bedroom.

“Is your dad home _on time?_ ” she asked in disbelief.

Charlie glanced at his watch, frowning. “Yeah he is – Merlin, I can’t remember the last time dad was actually here for dinner.”

“Just my luck,” she grumbled, aggressively folding the shirt on her lap. Mr Weasley’s arrival meant only one thing – her hiding had been finally forced to come to an end.

Charlie peered at her suspiciously. “What’s your problem with Tom?”

“I don’t have a problem,” Marina replied, managing to keep nearly all the defensiveness from her voice.

Though evidently not all of it – Charlie raised an eyebrow and Marina had to avoid his gaze as she stood and brushed off her jeans, putting on a very good show of nonchalance. “Let’s go then,” she said bracingly.

Charlie followed her downstairs where they found Mr and Mrs Weasley already sitting with Tom in the lounge. Mr Weasley’s work robes were crumpled and his hat had been knocked on an angle, but he looked uncharacteristically lively for having just returned from work, with alert eyes and an intent lean. Mrs Weasley was sitting straight-backed and tight-lipped on the settee beside the fireplace, her creased brow betraying the gravity of their conversation, and Tom was positioned in the same yellow chair that he had taken that morning. One of his long legs was crossed over the other and he had propped an elbow beside him to let his hand linger thoughtfully beside his face, his other hand draped lazily down the arm of the chair. His demeanour only accentuated the naturally regal quality of his features, the fine angles, dark blue eyes, and high cheekbones over which the light from the fireplace danced elegantly. He looked like he was sitting on a throne, not a tatty armchair.

 _Don’t stare,_ Marina thought suddenly, and she wrenched her eyes off Tom to fix them safely on the Weasleys.

“Not starting without us, are you?” Charlie asked jauntily, sitting next to his father.

“No, just catching up,” Mrs Weasley said, lips fluttering into a light smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Marina just sank onto the couch opposite Tom and tried to compose her expression into whatever a regular-looking, non-suspicious, I-haven’t-been-avoiding-you-all-day face looked like. By the way that Tom glanced at her, her efforts were less than successful.

Tom let a breath out through his nose and seemed to brace himself. “I suppose that I should begin,” he said softly. “You recall that two years ago, Dumbledore and I left for Greece, though we were gone much longer than anticipated,” he tilted his head towards Mr and Mrs Weasley who nodded back in affirmation. “Our purpose in going there was to search for a particular man…” Tom hesitated, looking almost reluctant to elaborate. “His name was once Drákavlos of Kyrenaika, though he is better known by his epithet… Herpo the Foul.”

Marina felt her brows rise in shock, understanding the reason for their search at once thanks to the extensive amount of time that she had spent on the Harry Potter Wikipedia page over the last decade. In contrast, the Weasleys seemed more confused than surprised – though Marina supposed that ‘history of Horcruxes’ wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that Professor Binns would cover in class.

“Herpo the Foul? Didn’t he invent the Cruciatus curse?” Charlie asked, looking distasteful.

“He invented a lot of evil curses, my boy,” said Mr Weasley darkly. “Most of which are still giving us trouble today. But Herpo lived thousands of years ago,” he frowned. “More time travel?”

“No,” Tom said quietly. “He’s rumoured to still be alive. He created the first Horcrux.”

The Weasleys’ expressions caught up to Marina’s in an instant.

“He’s still alive after that long?” Mrs Weasley asked, aghast. "That would make him nearly three thousand years old!"

Tom nodded. “Dumbledore suspected that being their inventor, Herpo possesses knowledge about Horcruxes that could prove invaluable. We began our search in the Greek province of Cyrene where he was born, and then tracked him to Cantabria in northern Spain without success. One last lead took us as far as Vilnius, in Lithuania – but we found nothing but old stories. If he really is still alive, he is well hidden, and does not wish to be found easily.”

“Why did you want to meet him?” Marina asked, frowning. “What could he know that would make Dumbledore want to find him so badly?”

Tom gave her an inscrutable look. “Each Horcrux that the Dark Lord made is tied to a particular death,” he said softly. “A murder that tore a fragment of his soul from his body, a fragment that I can now reclaim by sheer proximity.” He hesitated, his eyes falling on the dancing flames in the fireplace. “But there remains a piece that I cannot reclaim no matter how close I come, the one piece that is not tied to any death.”

Something clicked into place in Marina’s head. “The piece still in You-Know-Who,” she finished slowly. Her mind began racing as it picked at the problem, turning it over again and again like a puzzle.

Tom nodded. “Dumbledore had hoped that Herpo’s knowledge of Horcrux magic would give us some insight into how to draw that piece from the Dark Lord’s body.”

“But you didn’t find him,” Marina said apprehensively.

“No,” he replied quietly. “Though we tried many times. In Herpo’s absence, we were forced to come up with another plan – to consult the only other person with extensive knowledge of Horcruxes.”

“What – You-Know-Who?” Charlie interrupted. “Just walk up to him and ask how to steal the soul out of his body? I’m sure that’ll go down a treat.”

“I assure you, the plan was to be somewhat more subtle than that,” Tom said dryly.

“But the Death Eaters brought you to him from Bill and Fleur’s wedding, with us and Harry and everyone else – didn’t he suspect you?” Mrs Weasley asked, sounding torn between concern and disapproval.

Tom smirked, a curl in his lips that greatly intensified his regal appearance. “It was fairly easy to convince him that I was deceiving you all for the purposes of gathering information,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a slow confidence, “as I have mentioned before, the Dark Lord does not believe that I am capable of straying too far from his own character.”

“Which reminds me,” Mr Weasley said firmly, “you still haven’t told us what you let slip to You-Know-Who to curry his favour.”

“I said a great deal without divulging very much at all,” Tom remarked, looking imperturbable. “You must remember that whilst the Dark Lord considered Dumbledore his one true threat in battle, he also thought him remarkably ignorant, and vastly inferior to himself.”

“He thought Dumbledore was ignorant?” Charlie scoffed.

“Dumbledore _was_ ignorant,” Marina muttered impulsively. “Mostly of his own shortcomings, but he managed to squeeze child psychology and interpersonal respect onto that list, too.”

There was a loaded silence, and Marina was forcefully reminded that criticising Dumbledore would be ill-received in the Weasley household.

“But I’m guessing that You-Know-Who was meaning something else,” she said quickly, looking to Tom.

“Yes,” said Tom, his dark eyes alight with amusement as he watched her avoid the somewhat scandalised looks of the Weasleys. “The Dark Lord has always regarded Dumbledore’s preoccupation with love to be his greatest and most ridiculous weakness. My alibi abused this perception; I told him that I had sought out Dumbledore and claimed that I was some sort of echo of the past, a figment of some ancient magic that I did not understand. I claimed that whilst Dumbledore had been suspicious of me at first, he had quickly become intent on… rehabilitating me.” Tom paused, a minute crease appearing between his brows. “The Dark Lord thought this very typical of Dumbledore,” he said quietly, before turning thoughtful again. “And – superficially, at least – this fiction was not so far from the truth. I did not struggle to provide him with memories that seemed to support my narrative.”

“What did you tell him about the Order?” Mrs Weasley asked anxiously.

“I said little of any real consequence,” Tom said smoothly. “Descriptions of people’s character, benign stories from mine and Dumbledore’s travels, that sort of thing. When real intel was required, I disclosed only minor plans – for example, your idea with the Knight Bus…”

Marina frowned in confusion but Mr Weasley scoffed lightly.

“Explains why Dolohov started showing up on all the routes all of a sudden,” he muttered, “most of us still can’t get on it.” He sighed heavily. “No matter, I suppose… it wasn’t an essential move on our part.”

“I should be able to return fairly regularly to discuss things in more detail,” said Tom very casually, “the Death Eaters are under the impression that I am conducting private missions for the Dark Lord. They will not question my absence, so long as I am not gone for too long.”

“Hold on,” Marina frowned, “you haven’t said if it’s worked or not.”

“If what has worked?” Tom asked smoothly, his gaze meeting hers at once.

“The Horcrux magic thing,” she said impatiently, “or – I mean – how to get the piece of soul from You-Know-Who.”

There was a heavy pause before Tom spoke again, one that set unease curling in Marina’s stomach in a horribly familiar way – what did it remind her of? It was right on the edge of her mind, just out of reach –

“Not yet,” said Tom quietly.

Before Marina could reply, he had already turned back to the Weasleys. “Moreover, the Dark Lord has grown paranoid of what might occur if I draw close to Nagini after my reaction the first time I did so. He has forbidden me from going near her, which has proven problematic in my attempts to reclaim –”

“Wait, wait,” Marina said loudly, holding up her hands.

Tom gave her a frustrated look, but it was tinged with something else that she couldn’t pinpoint, something that only worsened the unease growing inside of her.

“So you haven’t been able to learn how to get the soul from You-Know-Who?” she asked slowly.

Tom’s jaw tensed, and his look of reluctance returned. “No,” he said shortly.

“And you couldn’t find Herpo to ask him, either.”

He laced his hands together, lips going tight. “No.”

“So,” Marina said, feeling her heart speed up a bit, “how are you going to get that piece? What’s the plan?”

“Marina,” Mrs Weasley said quietly, “it’ll be alright, don’t get yourself worked –”

“Is there a plan?” Marina interrupted a little frantically, eyes fixed on Tom’s face. “What are you going to do?”

Tom sighed once, short and sharp. “We have to focus on reclaiming the last Horcruxes. Over time, I am confident that I can handle Nagini, but as for Hufflepuff’s cup –”

“Tom,” Marina said, heart racing, “answer me.”

But he only looked at her, some mix of tension and resignation and frustration all battling on his face like he wanted her to know the answer without having to say it out loud.

And all at once, she did.

_Tom lying in a pool of ink, a fang jutting from his chest, her hands stained black, that same unease flooding her body, and Tom’s lips opening slowly –_

_“Neither can live whilst the other survives.”_

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“Marina.”

He knocked again, soft and insistent. Marina ignored it, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

“Marina, open the door.”

“You’re the fancy wizard,” she said, turning her face into her shoulder. “Open it yourself.”

She heard him sigh again, and then there was the faint trill of magic before the lock clicked as it unlatched. Ginny’s bedroom door swung open and Tom stepped inside, stowing away his wand as he assessed her perched on the end of the bed, her eyes unmistakeably red and swollen. She’d escaped back upstairs the moment she could, having barely paid attention to the rest of the conversation.

Tom folded his arms, leaning against the wall as his expression turned hard.

“You must know that it’s not exactly my first choice of plans,” he said quietly, “but the Dark Lord will remain tied to this world whilst part of his soul continues on outside of his body.”

“You can’t just die,” Marina said angrily, “that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Tom was silent a moment, and then he dropped his eyes. “People die in wars, Marina,” he said in a low voice.

“Isn’t your soul separate from his now?” she asked desperately. “You said – he can’t see into your mind like he can with Nagini – and you don’t feel anything when you’re near him! So surely that means –”

“That is not a chance we can take,” Tom said at once, gaze fixed on the floor.

Marina narrowed her eyes. “You spent too much time with Dumbledore,” she said coolly, “it’s just like him to start throwing peoples’ lives around _just in case._ ”

Tom pursed his lips. “You agreed to this,” he said, giving her a guarded look, “when you first met with Dumbledore in the hospital wing. You agreed that if you were met with failure, I should be destroyed.”

Marina gaped, her heart dropping. “I – that was – he told you about that?”

Tom only looked on, eyes reserved. Marina turned away, a rush of turbulent emotions roiling in her chest. She’d always known that making that stupid deal with Dumbledore would end up biting her in the ass. “I agreed that if you were unwilling to go along with us, if you couldn't reclaim the Horcruxes, that he’d have to do things his way,” she said, aggravated. “ _This_ isn’t anything close to what I agreed to!”

Tom shook his head, a minute movement that felt strangely resigned. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly.

“It does matter!” Marina leapt to her feet. “We aren’t going through all of this just to fucking kill you, Tom!”

“If there was another way, don’t you think I would have found it by now?” he snapped, his composure cracking. “Right now, all I can do is find the last Horcruxes so that you can get rid of them all in one tidy package,” he finished bitterly.

Marina stared at him, heat rolling across her face. She was so filled with emotion that she couldn’t move. “We’re going to Greece,” she whispered.

Tom’s gaze snapped to her. “What?”

“You and me, we’re going to Greece or whatever,” she said loudly. “We’re finding this Herpo fucker, this is ridiculous.”

It was Tom's turn to stare – he looking halfway stunned. “ _You_ want to look for him?” he said finally, filled with scepticism, “a man neither I nor Dumbledore could find?”

Marina glared back. “I don’t care that you couldn’t find him, we’ll find him this time.”

“How?” Tom asked, raising a single dark brow.

Marina started pacing. “The places you mentioned downstairs, Spain and the other one –”

“Lithuania,” he interjected smoothly, watching her.

“– sure, how did you end up there? What were you following?”

“Herpo was the first person to discover how to breed basilisks,” said Tom as he rested his head on the wall behind him, accentuating the sharp line of his jaw. “He kept the knowledge secret for some centuries, so we traced early stories of basilisk attacks and sightings. He was nearly always behind them.”

Marina nodded, mind whirring. “Did you ever look for his Horcrux?”

Tom paused. “How would we –”

She stopped pacing, giving him an incredulous look. “Tom, being around a Horcrux is like having solid depression force-fed down your throat whilst someone slowly stones you to death,” she said dryly, “it’s bound to leave an impact, wherever it is. If Herpo is still alive then his Horcrux has to be somewhere, and if we find it, maybe it can lead us to him.”

“Dumbledore thought that it was lost,” Tom murmured, his eyes roamed animatedly. “Even to Herpo.”

Marina shot him a questioning look.

“To live so long would drive one insane,” Tom said, catching her expression, “Dumbledore believed that if Herpo had been able to do so, he would have long destroyed his own Horcrux and welcomed death.”

“Right, so we start with that,” Marina said decidedly.

Tom assessed her thoughtfully. “If his Horcrux is that old, it probably would have developed a rather intense influence,” he said slowly.

“So what’s the most miserable place in the wizarding world?” Marina wondered out loud.

The answer occurred to both of them at the same time. They stared at one another.

“You don’t think it’s that simple?” said Marina, a bit dumbfounded.

“I don’t know,” Tom whispered, “perhaps it is.”

“You said something about Azkaban once, didn’t you?” Marina said, frowning. “I remember – in Dumbledore’s office, with Moody –”

Tom gave her a blank look, and she gestured her hands dramatically. “I don’t know his name, some dude who found the island before it was a prison, and something about Dementors –”

“Ekrizdis,” Tom interrupted, “He hid there for years torturing people in secret – it’s unclear if the Dementors were already on the island, or if they spawned there due to his… experiments.” He appraised her, looking like he was on the brink of being impressed. “You remember that?”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” Marina smirked, “For me that was only like a few weeks ago. Anyway, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Maybe Herpo hid his Horcrux there centuries ago, and when Ekrizdis showed up, it corrupted him and made him do all that messed up stuff!”

“We should actually search the place before we start coming up with a full narrative,” Tom said dryly, but the blue of his eyes had come alive with vivacity and Marina knew that her idea had sparked something in him.

“So we’re going to Azkaban, then?” Marina asked, sitting back down on her bed with a thump as she realised what that would really entail. Disquiet bubbled in her heart as she remembered the last time that she’d been around Dementors.

Tom frowned. “I should go alone. The Dementors won’t bother me, they’re under the control of the Death Eaters. I’ll search the island and –”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Marina interrupted immediately, “There’s no way you’re going to that place alone. I’ll get a disguise or something, but I’m coming with you.”

Tom gave her a deadpan look. “I certainly did not miss the freedom with which you insult me these last few years.”

“Just the rest of me, then,” Marina grinned gaudily.

Tom rolled his eyes and pushed off the wall. “I should get back,” he said, before giving her a levelled look. “Can you be ready to go tomorrow?”

“You want to start tomorrow?” she asked, a bit surprised.

He elegantly raised an eyebrow. “Do you have other plans?”

Marina shrugged. “Oh you know,” she said, feigning great disinterest, “I thought I might meander outside to check if the celery is ready to pick, maybe give the yard a bit of a mow, but I could fit you in after that, I suppose.”

“How good of you,” Tom said monotonously. “I’ll be here before nightfall. Pack for a few days.”

With that, he turned for the door.

“Hey,” Marina called out without thinking.

Tom looked back at her questioningly, and Marina floundered, realising that she had no idea why she’d stopped him.

“Yes?” he prompted after she said nothing.

“Uh –” her eyes darted to the side where they fell on the small, brightly coloured crystal resting on her bedside table. “Thanks for the present,” she finished lamely, gesturing to it. “I really like it.”

“You’re welcome,” Tom said archly.

“Charlie said it's worth a bunch of money,” Marina said, horrifically aware that she was rambling.

He hesitated, his expression turning ever so slightly reserved again. “Is that what you like about it?”

“No,” she said quickly, “no, I like it because it’s pretty and colourful and warm.”

Tom’s frown gave way as the corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s more like what I was expecting,” he said wryly, “though I must admit, I only learned of its true market value after I’d wrapped it. Perhaps that would have influenced my decision to give it to you…”

Marina rolled her eyes. “You know, I really miss being able to throw a book at your face and making you disappear.”

“I’m wounded,” Tom smirked, and he turned on his heel and vanished down the stairs, leaving Marina to stare at the space he’d left behind with her thoughts swirling and chest full of twisting emotions that she didn’t care to unpick.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Ask and thou shalt receive: vine comp part two!! I made these myself this time ;)  
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X3_hmYuIoLs  
>  Thanks for your continuing support!! I have so much fun with this story tbh, I'm really excited to share it with you :D  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	32. Blood and Gold

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA COULD TELL** to the exact second when the twins had arrived because the whole Burrow was suddenly shaken by a series of staggeringly loud noises, each more troubling than the last. The first was a piercing CRACK as the twins Apparated into the lounge, immediately followed by Mrs Weasley’s loud shriek of surprise, which was itself chased by a cacophonic crashing sound. The whole ordeal was capped off by the instantaneous eruption of Mrs Weasley’s furious bellows that were so loud that Marina caught every word from where she sat in Charlie’s room on the third floor.

Marina – who had pilfered _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ from Charlie’s bookshelf and was very comfortably curled up on his bed – looked up at Charlie apprehensively. He reluctantly lowered his quill from the letter he’d been writing and turned to face her. They shared a deadpan look as his mother’s voice continued to thunder up the stairs.

“Shall we go say hi?” he asked blandly.

If the volume of Mrs Weasley’s voice was anything to go by, Marina would have much preferred to keep reading. Nevertheless, she somewhat nervously followed him downstairs only to find the lounge in utter pandemonium.

Fred and George had evidently decided to celebrate their arrival by charming a large explosion of confetti to erupt the second they Apparated inside, leaving every available surface littered with brightly coloured, slightly fizzing slips of shiny paper. Unfortunately for them, Mrs Weasley had been carrying the large family clock at the time which she monitored obsessively (a regrettable number of the hands refused to budge from ‘mortal peril’), and it appeared that she had dropped in surprise. The clock lay in shambles at her feet as she unleashed her wrath upon the twins who stood somewhat meekly among the colourful havoc that they had wrought upon the lounge. Marina could tell immediately who was Fred and who was George thanks to the slightly gruesome reddish scar on the left side of George’s face in place of an ear.

“– COULD HAVE DONE SERIOUS DAMAGE TO MYSELF! LOOK AT THE STATE OF IT! IF YOU TWO WOULD STOP INSISTING ON BEHAVING LIKE CHILDREN THEN PERHAPS –”

“Hello there!” Fred said cheerfully, catching sight of Marina and giving an unaffected wave despite the behemoth fury of his mother raging beside him. “You must be the time-travelling Muggle from the future!”

“My reputation precedes me,” Marina said dryly, turning to Charlie who gave her a guilty smile.

“I may have told them about you last time I visited the store,” he said sheepishly.

“ – SUPPOSED TO GET IT FIXED? NOT A SINGLE HOROLOMANCER LEFT IN DIAGON ALLEY AND MERLIN KNOWS IT’LL COST A FORTUNE –”

“We have _so_ much we’d like to ask you about,” George grinned. “In the future, does Snape crack the elusive mystery of a shampoo bottle?”

“Do Hagrid and Madame Maxine ever get hitched?” Fred chimed in.

“Does our git brother Percy finally remove that stick from his –”

“ – USE MAGIC RESPONSIBLY FOR ONCE! YOU’LL BE CLEANING IT BY HAND AND NOT A SINGLE SPELL BETWEEN YOU!”

That finally caught their attention.

“Don’t be like that, mum!” said Fred, looking put out. “We could have this sorted in a jiffy!”

He drew his wand, but Mrs Weasley was faster.

“Expelliarmus!” she bellowed.

Fred’s wand flew across the room and clattered into the corner where it disappeared into a pile of brightly coloured confetti.

“By hand!” Mrs Weasley shouted, “I want this place spotless in an hour!”

She proceeded to confiscate George’s wand among the twins’ desperate pleas for reconsideration, but Mrs Weasley was merciless.

“This is inhumane,” grumbled Fred as he seized handfuls of the confetti.

“Can’t believe mum’s stooped to humiliation tactics,” George said dourly, brushing more confetti from the mantlepiece into a bucket that Mrs Weasley had pushed into his arms before bustling away angrily. “I think this technically counts as a form of torture.”

Marina rolled her eyes. “Wizards,” she muttered, collapsing onto the couch and sending up a glittering cloud of rainbow paper. “Honestly…”

“Well since you’re such a pro, Miss Muggle, don’t suppose you’d lend a hand?” Fred said quickly.

Marina was halfway up off the couch when Mrs Weasley materialised from the kitchen again. “Don’t you dare,” she said sternly, pointing a finger at Marina with a hand on her hip “They’re not to pawn this off onto you, understand? Besides, you still need to pack.”

She thrust a regular-looking broom into Fred’s hands, gave the twins a threatening look, and then retreated back to the kitchen. Marina fell obediently back onto the couch.

“Pack?” Charlie said at once, leaning against the balustrade of the stairs. “You’re going somewhere?”

“Tom and I are going on a trip.” Marina said, watching Fred dramatically feign back pain as he pushed the old broom across the floor.

“Where?” frowned Charlie.

Marina pursed her lips. Neither she nor Tom had told Mrs Weasley where they intended to go, both seeming to have independently sensed that their plan to sneak around Azkaban would not go down smoothly. “We’re trying to find Herpo,” she said diplomatically.

Charlie’s eyes did not leave her face. Her slight circumnavigation of the truth had clearly not gone unnoticed, but before he could press the matter, Mrs Weasley summoned him to the kitchen to help with preparing dinner and Marina was left to supervise Fred and George’s slow and apparently laborious progress.

“Did you say that you’re going somewhere with Riddle?” George asked her as he crammed confetti into his bucket.

“Yeah,” she said, somewhat carefully. “How come?”

“Bit funny isn’t it?” he smirked, “a Muggle running around with mini You-Know-Who.”

Marina’s eyes widened. She’d been given the impression that knowledge of Tom’s true identity was on a strict need-to-know basis.

“You know about that?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“Worst kept secret in the family,” Fred said idly, “mum tried to convince everyone that he’s her uncle’s godson’s nephew, but we figured it out the very first year he came for the holidays.”

“How?” Marina said immediately.

“Well first of all,” George said conversationally, “his name is all over Hogwarts as the best and brightest nerd from 1945 –”

“Plus Dumbledore treated him like he was an Erumpent horn about to blow at any second –” Fred added.

“But he’s also really good at magic and Dumbledore always wanted to work with him –”

“Even though they sort of hated each other –”

“And he can’t cast a Patronus –”

“But the Order love him because he has all this inexplicable inside knowledge about You-Know-Who –”

“And he avoided Harry like he had Dragon Pox –”

Marina’s head jerked around to George. “What?” she said sharply.

“And everyone’s really cagey about his history and where he came from –”

“And he’s a Parselmouth –”

“And he can use Legilimency –”

“Okay, okay I get it,” Marina interrupted, waving her hands, “what did you say about Harry?”

“Never seen them in the same room together,” George said matter-of-factly. “Whenever Harry was here, Riddle would always be off on some trip with Dumbledore.”

Marina was gobsmacked. “Does _Harry_ know about him?”

Fred shrugged as he brushed confetti off the knick-knacks on the top shelf with the broom precariously outstretched in one hand. “Not sure. Dumbledore swore us to secrecy once he realised we knew. He made us promise to not talk to Harry about it.”

“He made us promise not to talk to _anyone_ about it,” George amended, before giving her a cheeky look, “but we still managed to have some fun.”

“Remember that year we gave him that book, George?” Fred sniggered. “What was it called again…”

“‘ _The Magic of Muggles,’”_ George grinned, “ _Debunking the Baseless Bigotry_.”

“Don’t want him following in his evil alter-ego’s footsteps now, do we?” Fred winked. “Plus we’ve never put our name on anything we’ve ever given him, always signed everything ‘ _From You Know Who_.’”

Marina snorted.

Tom arrived just after dinner, materialising in the lounge where Fred, George, Marina, and Charlie were in the middle of an intense game of Exploding Snap. They had grown so raucous that Mrs Weasley had retreated upstairs to her room for some solace – though she had made a point to give Marina a long hug farewell beforehand. Mrs Weasley’s solemn pleas that she be careful and that they come back home as soon as they could were still in the back of Marina’s mind – though she suspected that Mrs Weasley would not have been half as lenient on letting them go had she known the truth of their intended destination.

“Hold on a second,” Marina called to Tom distractedly, not looking at him – her eyes were glued to the huge pile of cards before them. “George – shove _off –_ ”

She pushed George’s arm away from where he was trying to poke her in the ribs with his wand in a blatant sabotage attempt.

“If Charlie wins again, I’m resigning from the shop and becoming a hermit out of shame,” Fred muttered solemnly. He had his hand tensely poised high above the pile of cards to descent at a moment’s notice.

“If Charlie wins again, I’m killing everyone in the room and then myself,” Marina said vehemently as the cards turned themselves over one by one. Charlie had won six straight rounds in a row, and was looking much too smug for her liking.

“What can I say,” Charlie smirked, eyes trained on the pile. “I’ve got fast reflexes and I’m not afraid to get burnt –”

Just then, two cards with the monstrous visage of a mountain troll appeared one after the other and all four of them shot out their hands at once, colliding in a painful mess of crunched fingers as the ginormous pile of cards exploded in a huge cloud of noxious black smoke and smouldering embers.

“Who won?” Fred shouted into the confusion as they coughed and spluttered. “Who’s hand is –”

The smoke cleared, and they peered eagerly onto the table only to see –

“YES!” Marina shouted ecstatically, “SUCK it Charlie! Fast reflexes my ass!”

Charlie flung himself to the floor in despair and the twins leapt to their feet to take a raucous victory lap around the lounge, just glad that their brother had finally been defeated.

“Ever so sorry to interrupt,” Tom said smoothly, giving Marina a pointed look, “but we should be going.”

“Oh don’t be such a wet blanket, Riddle,” George said, throwing an arm around Tom’s shoulders and nearly knocking him over with the impact.

“Yeah,” Fred grinned, “we’ll have to start calling you ‘He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Entertained’ –”

“Alright, alright,” Marina said loudly, unable to stop her smile at Tom’s extremely disgruntled expression but knowing that she should probably rescue him from George’s rambunctious grip. She stood and shooed George off Tom – made much easier by the fact that he immediately rushed over to help Fred charm the family photos on the wall to call out ‘loser!’ at Charlie’s motionless form sprawled across the floor.

Marina turned to Tom and pushed her hair off her face. “Alright, let’s go.”

“You’re going _now_?” Charlie said loudly, pushing himself up onto his forearms at once.

Marina shrugged. “No time like the present,” she said breezily, beelining for the stairs.

“Hold on –” Charlie scrambled to his feet and seized her by the shoulders. “Be careful,” he said sternly, hands tightening.

“Course,” Marina said at once.

“I’m serious,” said Charlie, frowning, before pulling her into a tight hug.

Marina returned it, making sure to avoid pressing too hard on her bad arm – although it was much healed, it was still tender. “I’ll be fine,” she said gently, pulling back to give him a smile. “Pretty sure by now we should assume that I can survive just about anything.”

“Let’s not test it,” he said, ruffling her hair and turning to Tom. “You too – be careful,” he said firmly.

“Riddle’s always careful,” Fred piped up with a very cheeky smile on his face as Tom nodded at Charlie, “how else do you think he manages to keep his hair in those perfect waves?”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Upstairs, Marina cast a last glance around Ginny’s bedroom and wondered if it would be long before she saw it again. Her eyes fell upon her bag sitting on the end of her bed. Surely Death Eaters didn’t walk around Azkaban with a second change of clothes.

“What am I going to do with my bag? Should I just carry it around with –”

Tom raised his wand and with a small _pop,_ Marina’s bag shrunk to the size of a walnut.

“Oh yeah,” she said humourously as she picked up the now Polly Pocket sized bag and admired it. “I do forget that you can do that.”

Tom gave her a dry look as she stowed it alongside the phoenix flint in her pocket. “Alright,” she turned to where Tom was stood waiting for her by the door, pulling her long hair back with considerable effort – there was a lot of it. “Shall we go then?” she asked.

“Yes,” Tom said quietly. “If you’re ready.” His inflection nearly made it a question, and his eyes were serious as he assessed her.

Marina nodded as she wrenched her hair tie around her ponytail as tightly as it would go. “I’m ready,” she said firmly.

Tom raised his wand again and Marina looked down as black robes descended upon her form like smoke solidifying. She turned her mouth distastefully and looked up at Tom, but he only held out a silver and black mask.

“Gross,” Marina said with great disgust, taking it and turning it over.

Tom – already in the recognisable black, flowing robes of Voldemort’s followers – gave her a look. “You hardly look the sort to join the Death Eaters, Marina.”

“Aren’t Dementors blind?” she quirked a brow.

“Yes, but there’s no knowing who else we might see there,” Tom said rather reproachfully.

“Fine,” Marina grumbled. “It’s still gross, though.”

“All the more reason to proceed swiftly, then,” Tom said smoothly. “Let’s go.”

With that he held out his hand to her as if asking her to dance. Marina looked from his hand to his face, baffled.

Tom arched an eyebrow. “Unless you plan on Apparating there by yourself?” he asked with a decidedly playful sarcasm that Marina wasn’t sure how she felt about.

She rolled her eyes, and with some reluctance she lightly placed her hand in his, steadfastly ignoring how her face felt warmer. In an instant, that familiar feeling of twisting gravity overwhelmed her stomach and suddenly the warm bedroom was gone, immediately replaced by a scene both much more grim and much less comfortable.

The wind howled far above in the black sky, and dark, monstrously huge waves slowly rolled in like giants against a stony outcrop, crashing into the stone with a thunder that Marina could feel in her chest. Rain pelted down, blowing angry, ice-cold, and razor-sharp needles of water against her face, and she instinctively affixed the mask just to avoid it. Tom’s hand tightened on hers and he tugged her forward somewhat blindly towards a nearly invisible shadow looming before them. Marina tried not to stumble, but was incredibly glad that Dementors were blind as they made their way towards Azkaban jutting up against the storming sky.

Tom raised his wand when they reached the featureless glistening wall of black stone, and a rectangular opening appeared at once that was somehow even blacker than its surroundings. Feeling very much like she was stepping into the void (and very much not liking how noticeably cold her hand felt now that Tom had dropped it), Marina followed him inside. The thunder of the waves and the rain immediately calmed as whatever door Tom had opened reappeared behind them, blocking out all but the low rumble of the storm outside.

A blueish light bloomed into existence at the tip of Tom’s wand, and he held it up in front of them as Marina peered forward. A grim, dripping corridor of plain black stone appeared before them, windowless, featureless, leading away ominously into the dark. It was dead cold, and drips echoed bleakly from the distance, some loud and close, others distant and resonating.

“Prepare yourself,” Tom said quietly, grip on his wand visibly tightening.

Marina narrowed her eyes at the darkness where he was staring, tight-lipped and jaw tense. She soon realised why. The drips of water were getting less and less numerous, like something coming towards them was erasing the sounds from existence. The cold in the air grew near unbearable, and Marina felt her skin prickle as her very core started to tremble with it. Suddenly, there was complete silence as the last of the drops froze in place against the stone walls and a Dementor appeared before them, barely visible against the blackness of the corridor.

“We are here on behalf of the Dark Lord,” Tom said coolly, tilting his chin up. “You know of our coming.”

The Dementor did not seem to react, it merely floated there. Marina held back her shivers, staring at it through the barred holes of the Death Eater mask as the chill in her chest seemed to spread through her very soul.

“You will not interfere,” Tom continued smoothly, greatly impressing Marina with how utterly unaffected he sounded. “We have business to attend to.”

There was a ringing moment of stillness and Marina’s heart pounded, then the Dementor slowly glided back into the distance, melting into the darkness like it had dissolved.

Tom let a small breath out through his nose and glanced at Marina. “Let’s go,” he said evenly, turning to the left and stepping down a path that Marina had not even seen in the darkness. “Stay close,” he added, already sounding impossibly far away.

Marina hastened after his tall form, silhouetted by the light from his outstretched wand. “Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

“Below the prison,” Tom said at once, “its structure was built relatively recently compared to what we are searching for. If it is here, it will be in the remains of Ekrizdis’ chambers.”

Marina wanted to reply, but she could only shiver. Even in the wake of the Dementor, the chill was lingering in her chest and she could barely walk straight with how hard her body was shaking. She delved her hand into her pocket beneath the Death Eater robes and closed her fingers around the phoenix flint, holding back a sigh of relief when delicious warmth erupted up her hand and along her arm.

“Here,” Tom muttered, pushing open an iron gate with a loud screech that made Marina jump. The light of his wand fell upon a stone staircase descending down into utter darkness, all of it wet and dripping, all of it ice cold.

Shivering, Marina grit her teeth and stepped first down the stairs, her hand coming out to trail the wall for balance Tom let the gate swing shut behind them, the noises deafening in the grim stillness. Marina pulled off her mask and shoved it into the deep pocket of her robe, glad to be free of it before continuing first down the dark stairs. Their footsteps echoed austerely as they descended down further and further, going on far longer than Marina had expected. After what felt like an age, Tom’s hand appeared on her arm, stilling her at once.

“Wait,” he said, frowning, “something is ahead. Something warded.”

Tom stepped down the stairs in front of her, wand outstretched, movement cautious. Marina was struck with the memory of Dumbledore doing the very same when they had gone to the Gaunt shack.

Tom’s wand cut through the air and a hollow sound resonated in Marina’s ears, so deep that it was nearly undetectable, so loud that she felt in her bones. Nausea overcame her as the sound seemed to linger unwanted in her head.

“There are more,” Tom said through a tight jaw.

On they went, Tom breaking more and more wards as they travelled deeper down into the earth. The storm outside was completely muted, not even the thunderous waves crashing upon the rock could be heard. By the time they reached another iron gate at the bottom of the stairs, Marina was trembling and sweaty despite the cold, her head pounding and her ears ringing from the sickening, dull roar of each ward breaking.

“Ready?” Tom asked, hand on the gate. His voice sounded odd, and Marina peered at him in the eerie glow of light from his wand.

Tom was deathly pale, his hair slightly stuck to his face by the sickly sheen on his skin, and deep shadows looked to have been carved out under his eyes. He looked like he was holding back tremors, his lips pressed together hard.

“Jesus Christ, Tom,” Marina breathed, stepping forward at once and seizing his free arm. “Why didn’t you say something? Take this –”

She shoved the phoenix flint into his hand and forcibly closed his ice cold fingers around it. Tom breathed hard out of his nose, eyes closing.

“Keep that,” Marina said fiercely, “and bloody say something sooner next time.”

“I’m fine,” Tom said evenly, opening his eyes and turning to the gate – though with the flint he looked considerably better already. “Come on – we are far from finished here.”

He pushed the gate open and its high-pitched rusted squeal made Marina’s skin crawl. They entered a cavernous chamber that looked to be hewn straight from the rock, an outcrop running around the outside edge upon which they stood, overlooking the hollowed out centre where Marina could see strange structures looming abandoned in the dark.

“This is where Ekrizdis carried out his experiments,” Tom said quietly from behind her after the gate screamed shut. “They say he went mad from the isolation.”

“Isolation,” Marina repeated, looking around the chamber. “Isolation makes you lure and torture innocent people to death in increasingly elaborate and horrific ways?”

“We shall see,” Tom muttered, holding out his wand and leading them around the outcrop to where Marina could faintly see a rough stone staircase leading down to the structures in the middle of the huge cavern.

“Where do we even start?” Marina mused, staring up at a wooden structure that she thought very closely resembled the torture machine from the Princess Bride.

“Don’t touch anything,” Tom said at once, looking around with cautious curiosity.

“Oh, I already shoved my hands into the evil potion bowl, is that going to be a problem?” Marina said smoothly, nodding at a very horrific-looking pedestal whose end had been fashioned into a giant carved skull, its gaping mouth open to the ceiling and filled with a thick, dark liquid that pooled ominously between its stone teeth.

“Hilarious,” Tom deadpanned, moving past her.

Marina trailed after him, deeply aware that without him she was blind in the darkness. Their search began slowly, weaving between the bizarre and menacing structures that Ekrizdis had left behind, most of which were crumbling into disrepair and all covered in a thick layer of dust.

An hour passed, and then another, and soon Marina was so cold that her feet were numb in her shoes and she couldn’t bend her fingers anymore.

“Take this back,” Tom said quietly, noticing her trembling and handing her the flint. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“Keep it,” Marina said at once, crouching to get a better look at a large, very gory drain grate on the floor in the middle of the chamber. It seemed like blood had once run towards the grate from every direction in the chamber, though it had all long dried into a dark, far-reaching stain.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tom said dismissively, crouching next to her and seizing her wrist. As he put the flint in her palm, he gave her an extremely disapproving look as her fingers failed to close around it, frozen in place and bone white. “Your hypocrisy is not lost on me,” he said dryly as he closed his hand around hers, forcing her fingers into a fist. Marina couldn’t tell if the shiver that ran across her skin was from the heat of the flint or from the touch of his hand.

“Thanks,” she muttered, drawing the flint to her chest. “God this was a good present, Tom.”

“I must say this was not how I originally envisioned you using it,” Tom said, peering at the grate himself. “It was intended to be much more ornamental.”

“What, you didn’t expect that we’d need it when we ended up deep underground below the worst prison in the world in an ancient torture chamber looking for a three thousand year old piece of an evil Greek man’s soul?” Marina asked, looking between the bars of the grate with him, frowning. “It’s like you don’t know us at all. What’s that?” she nodded at the grate.

Tom held out his wand and let the light fall between the bars. Something glinted back. They shared a look.

With a slow wave of his wand, the grate relinquished and lifted open with a horrible moan. They both leaned forward and stared at what was beneath. Utterly covered in dried blood and black stains was the top of a marble slab, the blood having once run along its bevelled top and down its sides even further into the grate.

“Is that… a coffin?” Tom murmured.

“A sarcophagus,” Marina breathed, pointing. “Look.”

The stone edges of the sarcophagus were harsh and bold, with geometric and swirling patterns painted across it deeply obscured by blood. A small inlay of gold ran around its border, barely visible under the caked layers of stains, and horrible, grotesque figures that Marina could only just make out decorated its sides, muddied by hundreds of dark lines running down from above.

“Now why would Ekrizdis have a Greek ass sarcophagus in his floor?” Marina said, looking at Tom with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Tom frowned, a crease forming between his brows. “How do you know it’s Greek?”

“The murals,” she said, nodding at them. “It’s hard to see under the blood, but it’s pretty clearly Greek, check out the faces, and how they painted the skin of the figures, and how the animals are posed. Looks early, too,” she frowned with interest, “like Mycenaean early.”

Tom stared at her blankly.

“You do remember that I’ve been to university, Tom,” Marina said dryly, “did you never think to ask what I got my undergrad in?”

He shook his head.

“Archaeology,” she rolled her eyes. “Now, let’s crack this bad boy open and see what’s inside.”

After a moment’s more hesitation, Tom looked back at the sarcophagus below. “It’s cursed,” he said simply, “I’ll need some time to break them.”

“Well get going then, wizard boy,” Marina waved her hand at it, clapping her hand on her knees and straightening up. “I’ll stand here and look pretty until you’re done.”

“How very helpful,” Tom said monotonously as his wand traced over the sarcophagus and his expression became concentrated. “Do let me know if you require a break.”

“That’s quite impossible,” Marina said with a grin, “I simply cannot catch a break from looking pretty.” She stretched her back and it emitted a series of sickening cracks that echoed around the cavern.

Tom gave her another disapproving look, but its effect was somewhat ruined by the smile playing on his lips as he returned his attention back to the sarcophagus. Another long hour passed during which Marina idly explored the little circle of contents of the chamber around Tom, limited by the reach of his wand light. Finally, Tom let out a long breath.

“It should be safe now,” he said cautiously, standing.

“Should?” Marina repeated, from where she was bent over a much crumbled skeleton with some very disturbing trauma patterns on its skull.

“Perhaps you should stay back there for this,” Tom murmured, brandishing his wand. “Cistem Aperio.”

There was an almighty CRACK, and Marina stepped forward quickly. “You did _not_ just break that thing,” she said loudly, appearing at his side in an instant.

“Would you have preferred if I’d lifted the half-tonne stone slab by hand?” Tom asked coolly.

“It’s a _three thousand year old sarcophagus,_ Tom,” Marina intoned slowly, staring aghast at the fractured stone façade. “When I said crack that bad boy open, I didn’t mean _literally._ ”

“I’ll fix it when we’re done, if it means that much to you,” Tom said smoothly, waving his wand. The slabs of rock slid to the side and fell away noisily .

“ _Tom!_ ” Marina exclaimed weakly, watching the destruction with horror.

“I said I’ll fix it,” he said snappishly, crouching to lower the light of his wand over the contents of the sarcophagus. “Now are you going to help me look, or keep standing around looking pretty?”

Marina was very glad for the darkness in the cavern as she peered over Tom’s form into the sarcophagus since she felt her annoyingly easily provoked blush erupt on her cheeks yet again. The dark space that had once been concealed beneath the stone slab was filled with a very strange collection of bones that she realised must be the remains of hundreds of snakes. There didn’t look to be a human skeleton, but as her eyes drifted upwards, drawn by something glimmering in the blue light of Tom’s wand, she saw it.

“Oh my god,” she said blankly. _That has to be it…_

“What?” Tom said at once, looking up at her.

“Look,” she said, pointing at where the head should be in the sarcophagus.

“An ornament?” he frowned, raising his wand to the shining golden face that rested there.

“Not an ornament,” Marina breathed. “That’s a death mask.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Y'all... I am so sorry... it's been a time. My bf and I broke up. My cat died. I got sick and puked for three days. What a thrilling two weeks.  
>  ANYWAYYYYY So do you ever get a very specific image for a scene in your head that you just look forward to writing so so much? I have one of these atm, and am fucking pumped to get there.  
>  HEY THERE'S AN EASTER EGG IN THIS CHAPTER. One thousand points to whoever spots it, though if you do I'll be extremely impressed. I'll give you a clue, it's from the Chamber of Secrets movie ;)   
>  Thanks for being the best, I love you all.  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	33. Dumbledore's Plan

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **“A _DEATH MASK?_** **”** Tom repeated dryly.

“They’re common in a few cultures,” Marina murmured, staring at it as if hypnotised. The thing seemed to be emitting a strange coldness and she could have sworn that the light of Tom’s wand was dimmer in its presence. “But _that_ is a very specific type. That’s one of the golden death masks of Mycenae.”

“You recognise it?” he asked, sounding fairly surprised.

“They’re famous,” Marina said a bit breathlessly, shivering despite the phoenix flint still in her hand. “There’s a bunch of them, like six or seven from the same grave circle. There was all this drama about one of them apparently being the mask of Agamemnon – you know, the dude from Homer’s Iliad – but a lot of archaeologists reckon it was actually a pastiche and that Heinrich Schliemann totally made it up for clout. God don’t get me _started_ on that guy… did you know he took credit for a bunch of finds up where he supposedly found the site of Troy, when actually his _wife_ found them –”

“Marina,” Tom interrupted pointedly.

“Sorry – what I mean is, there’s some really recognisable traits here. The strokes of hair, the way the eyes are cut, and the shape of the nose… I’m pretty confident it’s one of them.”

“They’re from a specific place?” he asked, watching the mask with utter concentration.

“Yeah, Mycenae. It’s a really famous site.”

“What time period?” Tom said at once.

“Uh,” Marina grimaced with an attempt at playfulness despite the menacing chill radiating from the golden face before them. “It’s been a while since I took that paper. Probably more than three thousand years ago, though. Reckon that’s too old?”

“I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “They would have been a mark of status, would they not?”

“Yeah, most likely,” Marina frowned, “Solid gold grave goods and all. Only a few people were ever found with one.”

“Perhaps Herpo wished to pay some sort of homage to the originals,” Tom said curiously, still looking intently at the mask.

“Huh. Good point,” said Marina. The mask was indeed difficult to look away from, its closed golden eyes seemed to hold her own with a magnetism that made her feel uncomfortable and trembly, like she’d drunk too much coffee. She breathed deeply, trying to shake the effect. “It’s hardly subtle, isn’t it? Becoming immortal by encasing part of his soul in a symbol of death and leaving it inside another symbol of death?”

“Something tells me that subtlety will not be one of Herpo’s most prevalent characteristics,” Tom muttered, and to Marina’s horror he reached down towards the mask with his bare fingers. Her stomach twisted, instinctively feeling that touching it would be a very bad idea, and very much not liking the captivated, hungry look in Tom’s eyes.

“Tom!” she said with alarm, crouching quickly to grab his wrist and pulling it back.

Tom hissed in anger as if she had struck him, his fingers closing like a vice around her forearm to jerk her closer and his wand was at her throat in an instant, fury all over his face. Marina’s breath caught in fear as she felt his wand press against her skin under her jaw threateningly. His eyes had gone flat, the cold light from his wand glinting in them as she stared back, frozen in place.

A tense second passed before the rage on Tom’s face faded and he blinked once, a crease appearing between his brows. He dropped her forearm quickly, lowering his wand and looking away. “My apologies,” he said quietly, returning his gaze to the golden face beneath them with a great deal more apprehension in his expression. “I – the mask, it –” he swallowed hard, frown deepening.

“I get it,” Marina said quietly, looking back at it herself and trying to calm her racing pulse. “I can feel it too.”

“You seem less affected than I,” he said with impossible composure, not meeting her eyes as he waved his wand at the mask and it slowly lifted into the air.

The bones surrounding it clattering softly and Marina watched the face glint as it turned towards them in the darkness. Its golden eyes almost seemed as if they could open at any second, as if it was somehow watching her too. Blind but all-seeing. The coldness radiating from it, the way it seemed to be erasing the light around it, the way her heart was still racing in a shallow, rapid beat, that strangely familiar panic that she suddenly felt in her chest…

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said brittlely, “just in a different way, maybe. Now can we please get out of here?”

“We can,” Tom said evenly, standing and holding the mask before them with his outstretched wand.

With a flick of his wrist, the slab of rock beneath them rumbled and cracked as it reformed into its original façade, much to Marina's relief. With another flick, black fabric materialised before them and wrapped itself tightly around the mask as if consuming it. Even with its face finally concealed once more, Marina could still feel its cold pulse in her bones. She shared a long look with Tom.

“Not just isolation after all,” she said softly.

He nodded, hesitantly taking hold of the black parcel before them. Tom frowned almost thoughtfully. “I want to unwrap it,” he murmured.

“Well don’t,” Marina snorted. “Come on,” she tugged his sleeve lightly and turned back towards the stairs. “I hate this place.”

Tom didn’t respond as he followed her, stowing the mask under his arm. Marina didn’t miss the way his expression seemed to tighten as the Horcrux came so close to his body. She watched his face closely as they climbed the stairs up onto the rocky outcrop and began making their way back around to the rusty gate. Something cold had taken over his eyes and he wasn’t looking at her as he strode almost too confidently towards the gate, as if filled with some direct purpose. Something felt wrong.

“Tom,” Marina said evenly, placing her hand on his arm when they reached the gate

He stilled at once but he did not look around. “What?”

“Give it to me,” she said, not removing her hand.

Irritation flashed in Tom’s eyes as his head snapped to her. “What?” he repeated sharply.

“The mask. Give it to me,” she said calmly.

Something worked in his jaw, his eyes hard on hers. “Why?” he said tightly.

Marina just tilted her head. “What are you doing with your wand?”

Tom frowned as though confused, and then looked down. His arm had come up between them and his lit wand was aimed directly under her throat again. Something flickered in his stony eyes.

“Give it to me,” Marina repeated gently.

He nodded absently but he did not move. Marina grit her teeth and held her breath, potently aware that his wand was still pointing at her as she moved her hand from his arm and reached forward as slowly as she could, gently tugging the black bundle from his arm. Tom tensed but to her utter relief, he did not stop her. As soon as it was out of his grasp, he let out a long breath through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut.

Marina stowed the mask under her own arm and peered up at Tom’s face with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I should have anticipated that it would affect me so adversely,” Tom breathed, not opening his eyes. “My soul is… not particularly robust.” He looked close to sagging against the wall and Marina fought the sudden and insane urge to reach out and comfort him in some way.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said quickly, placing her hands instead on the cold metal gate and pushing it open for him. “Last thing I need is you passing out a hundred miles under the ocean and making me lug you up all those stairs.”

Tom cracked his eyes open and gave her a small, very tired smile that made her feel extremely strange before he stepped passed her and led the way up the long, dark staircase that stretched up in front of them.

“Chances of escaping without seeing a Dementor?” Marina muttered as they climbed, her eyes downturned. She could already feel the Horcrux’s effect, her heart racing frantically even as her whole body felt colder and more leaden with every step.

“Incredibly slim,” replied Tom from somewhere a few stairs above, “and I would recommend replacing your mask before we reach the main corridor.”

She nodded dully even though he couldn’t see, watching as she placed one foot in front of the other. She tightened her hand around the phoenix flint, but its warmth seemed to be fading in the presence of Herpo’s Horcrux. Time seemed to already be slipping away from her and she was struck with how quickly such an intense effect could come over her. _Foot over foot, step after step, keep going, another step, another step…_

“Marina.”

She hummed noncommittedly, not lifting her eyes. Suddenly Tom’s hand was on her arm and she jerked away at once, stepping back in panic. Tom stared at her, his face illuminated in the blue light of his wand between them, and Marina had to stop her jaw from trembling as she looked back.

“Sorry,” she whispered, forcing out a shaky breath.

“It’s alright,” Tom said, eyes not leaving her face. “Would you like me to help?”

“How?” Marina said listlessly, resting heavily on the wall. “I’m not giving this thing back to you and letting you go all evil again.”

“I have other ways of helping,” Tom said somewhat humorously, stepping towards her with a half smile.

Marina’s heart thudded, and she pointedly avoided his gaze as she frowned at the stairs. Tom’s wand flicked up and she felt warmth erupt across her skin at once. He waved his hand again and some of the leaden heaviness lifted from her legs. She drew in a long breath, relishing in the feeling of it. “Couldn’t have done that sooner, could you?” Marina joked weakly at him.

“You are absolutely abysmal at letting others know when you need assistance,” Tom said dryly, raising a brow. “Perhaps you might let me know that you’d like me to do that sooner.”

“Fair,” she shrugged, pushing off the wall.

Tom gestured ahead of him. “You go first,” he said casually, “I think I’ll trust my own observations of how you’re faring rather than wait for you to alert me yourself.”

“What, because I just straight up won’t?” Marina quipped, obliging him.

“Precisely,” he said wryly.

She smiled despite herself, returning her gaze to her feet as they continued up the long trek to the surface. It wasn’t long before the charms Tom had placed on her began to lose out against the thrall of the Horcrux, and he was forced to repeat them three more times before the reached the top of the stairs, looking more and more concerned each time. By the time they reached the first gate, Marina could barely feel a difference when he waved his wand at her, unable to even lift her gaze to his face.

“Your mask,” Tom said quietly, pushing through the gate.

She nodded numbly and replaced it, blindly following him into the main corridor. The dripping black stone greeted her again and she stared at it dispassionately as they wove back the way they came. The all-too-familiar aching cold pressed in on the stone and Marina knew that Dementors must not be too far. Somehow, she didn’t care.

“Who goes there?”

The voice echoed curtly, curled up from the corridor before them, loud and rasping. Marina didn’t recognise it, barely reacting at all. The leaden weight of her body was getting unbearably cold again, sinking into her very being, drawing from her even the capacity to worry about whoever they were about to encounter.

“Greyback,” Tom said coldly, not slowing.

“Master Riddle,” came the raspy voice at once, sounding significantly more deferential. Marina glanced up to see a large, vicious man with a torn face and matted hair, his teeth sharp and protruding, and his eyes bloodshot and wide in the lights from the two wizards’ wands. Behind him, two Dementors hovered with their hooded heads downturned.

“I did not expect to see you here,” Tom said very smoothly, sounding as if there was a slight sneer on his face. “Collecting another meal, are you?”

“Delivering one, actually,” Greyback said hungrily, and for the first time Marina noticed the figure beneath him.

One of Greyback’s huge hands was tightly closed around the arm of a young woman who could not have been older than Marina herself, his long, yellow nails pressing into her skin. The woman had a bloodied face and hung limp in his grasp, her closed eyes swollen and bruised and her scalp caked in blood. The Dementors were looking down at her, and Marina realised that they were probably feeding on her at that very moment. Her stomach sank with nausea and dread, and she felt as if she’d been shot in the chest.

“I see,” Tom said softly, sounding utterly unaffected by both the sight of the woman and the Dementors themselves.

“On business yourself?” Greyback rasped, eyes flicking to Marina. “Who’s this?”

Marina looked up at him from beneath the mask with a hatred so strong that it ached chillingly in her chest, and to her surprise Greyback’s suspicious expression faltered and he looked away. “Apologies,” he muttered, jerking the woman backwards down the corridor. “It was not my place…”

“We will be seeing you, Greyback,” Tom said, voice betraying nothing, “enjoy your little snack.”

“Of course, Master Riddle,” Greyback sneered, snickering in a horrible, gravelly way as he dragged the woman off into the darkness. His captive made no noise, and Marina was frozen in place as they disappeared off down the corridor. The Dementors trailing after them closely, still turned greedily on the limp form of the woman. Marina suddenly felt Tom push on her back with a light hand and she looked away abruptly, allowing him to guide her as she blinked hard at the tears obscuring her vision.

“Nearly there,” Tom said very quietly.

Marina didn’t dare nod, feeling like they were already pushing their luck with Tom’s hand brushing her back. The journey back to the door felt infinitely longer than it had been upon their arrival, and tears were thick on Marina’s face by the time that Tom raised his wand to the impassive black stone again. The roar of the storm outside suddenly hit them as the entrance appeared, and Tom immediately guided Marina out and into the rain. As soon as they were outside, his touch on her back became much more insistent, assertively guiding her across the slippery rocks to the outskirts of the prison. When they were finally back where they had arrived, soaking wet and freezing cold, Tom wasted no time in Apparating.

In a blink of an eye and a swell of nausea, they were on a very familiar street. Marina barely had time to register the sight of Diagon Alley before Tom was leading her quickly into the Leakey Cauldron, dark and mostly empty with a few haggard patrons who did not look up from their drinks as they entered. Tom was moving without hesitation and Marina let him lead her into a room on the second floor, the door slamming tightly behind him and the trill of magic filling the room as he cast wordless wards and charms at the door.

Marina tore her mask of at once, throwing it at the ground as she turned to face him. “We could have taken her with us,” she hissed at once, surprising herself with the heat in her own voice.

“No, we couldn’t,” Tom said sharply, watching her. “Not with both Greyback and the Dementors there. Not without raising suspicion.”

“She’s going to _die!”_ Marina shouted furiously. “He’s going to kill her there in that fucking horrible place! We could have _done_ something _– anything!”_

“She is not the first to fall victim to Greyback’s appetite within Azkaban’s walls,” Tom snapped, “he has been treating it as his own personal stock since the Dark Lord took it over –”

“You know, I’ve been wondering something, Tom,” Marina bit out aggressively, stepping towards him, “why do you call him that, huh? _The Dark Lord._ I thought only the really fucking devout Death Eaters call him that.”

Tom’s lips pressed together as his expression tightened. “What would you have me call him?” he breathed, “ _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?_ ”

“How about Tom?” Marina shot back wildly, anger twisting in her heart. “That’s what he calls you, after all – you know he means it as an insult, right? You used to hate that name, didn’t you? Made you _common_ , made you like everyone else –”

“Marina,” Tom said quietly, looking away.

“What?” she shouted, coming even closer with the bizarre urge to shove him.

“You are not yourself,” he said. His expression had turned very reserved.

“Am I not?” Marina said loudly, feeling recklessly powerful at his averted gaze. “Not wrong, though, am I?”

“Put down the mask,” Tom said very evenly, still not meeting her eyes.

Marina frowned. She had forgotten that the thing was still tucked under her arm, and a strong reluctance to yield it suddenly gripped her. Terrible realisation coursed through her. “Shit,” she breathed, frozen in place. “I – Tom –”

He stepped forward mechanically, and Marina watched in horror at how he resolutely did not look at her face as he pulled the mask from under her arm without resistance. He immediately turned and walked towards the door, throwing the mask carelessly onto the chair in the corner. “I will be back shortly,” Tom said in the same impossibly measured voice. “Don’t leave the room.”

“Tom, wait,” said Marina quickly.

It was no use. He was out the door before she could even reach for him and all of a sudden she was alone.

“Shit,” she breathed again, staring at the black bundle on the chair. “Fuck.”

He was gone for hours. The room grew colder and colder, and Marina hardly blamed the late hour – the mask sat where Tom had left it, radiating its aching aura, watching her from beneath the black folds as she tried to keep herself from going insane. By the time the door finally opened again, Marina had long shed her horrible Death Eater robes and was lying despondent on one of the couches in the middle of the room, fingers fluttering anxiously against her stomach in a repetitious pattern as she stared at the ceiling. She shot up at once and looked around to see Tom holding two bowls.

“Here,” he said mechanically, placing one on the low table before her.

“Thanks,” she said nervously, not even reaching for it as she watched him take a seat on the couch opposite her. “Where were you?”

“Malfoy Manor,” said Tom smoothly, placing down his own untouched meal. With a sinking feeling, Marina noted how he was still not meeting her gaze. “I need to keep up appearances if this is going to work.”

“Right,” she said awkwardly, “listen, Tom –”

“You do not have to explain,” he said stiffly, leaning back. “I have felt its effects myself. I understand.”

“Yeah, but I’m still –”

“Marina,” he interrupted with a tight jaw, staring hard at the table. “Leave it.”

She hesitated, torn between insisting on her apology and respecting his request. After a long second, she leaned forward and pushed her bowl to the other side of the table before standing and coming over to fall onto the couch next to him.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“Eating dinner,” Marina said blandly, seizing the bowl from in front of her. It was a very rustic-looking stew, but it smelled delicious and she suddenly realised just how hungry she was.

Tom hesitated, but seemed to relent. He slowly took his own bowl.

“Greyback was scared of me,” said Marina as she pushed her food around with her spoon.

“He was most likely sensing the mask,” Tom said carefully.

“The Dementors didn’t feel anything?”

Tom paused. “I believe that they were… distracted.”

Marina’s brows drew together, troubled. “Right,” she said quietly, thinking yet again of the young woman.

A long silence fell between them as they ate.

“I’m sorry,” Marina muttered once her bowl was empty.

Tom tensed. “I said –”

“I know what you said,” she interrupted loudly. “I’m still sorry.”

He didn’t respond.

“I don’t think that stuff,” said Marina, frown deepening. “I swear.”

Tom nodded. “I know,” he said, but that much composure always meant that he was hiding a lot.

Marina watched his face desperately. “Tom,” she said. Something in her tone clearly caught his attention because finally, _finally_ he looked at her. “I don’t think that,” Marina said again, trying to convey her sincerity and very much hoping that he believed her.

His eyes flicked between hers and he nodded again, his lips coming together hard. She nodded too, once, firm and decisive before both of them looked back down at their bowls. Marina felt strangely awkward.

“What are we going to do with it?” she asked, waving over towards the mask without looking. “Destroy it? Or take it to him?”

“Take it to him,” Tom said at once, “perhaps repossessing it will induce his favour.”

“We still have to find him,” she muttered, “does that mean we have to travel around with it?”

“I think that may be a bad idea,” Tom said evenly, “tonight has been a rather spectacular display of how quickly it asserts its influence.”

“Where are we gonna put it then?”

“I have a place in mind,” he said thoughtfully, “a place Dumbledore and I once visited on our search.”

“That reminds me,” Marina said suddenly, putting down her bowl and turning to Tom. “Did Dumbledore tell Harry about you?”

Tom hesitated, his eyes raising to her again. “No,” he said eventually.

“Why not?”

Tom’s expression grew wary and he leaned forward and placed his bowl next to hers. “I’m sure you could figure that out yourself,” he muttered.

Marina frowned. “He – he didn’t want you to take the Horcrux out of Harry?” she guessed.

A crease appeared between Tom’s brows again, and Marina knew she was right. But… “There’s more,” she said slowly, watching him.

“You told Dumbledore a lot when you first arrived here,” Tom said quietly. “He did not forget any of it.”

Marina’s brain whirred. “What do you mean?” she asked, a little anxiously.

“The piece of my soul in Harry Potter offers him unique insight into the Dark Lord’s mind,” Tom said softly, “insight not even I can provide. He can understand what he is feeling, what he is doing, and where he is going without the Dark Lord's knowledge."

“Dumbledore kept you two apart for the _strategic advantage?_ ” Marina intoned, gobsmacked.

“Not only that,” Tom said almost thoughtfully. “As you said to Dumbledore, it also protects him from death when he eventually faces the Dark Lord, it is integral to his success in defeating him. And he will face him. Even now.”

“But –” Marina said, confused, “but the killing curse destroys Horcruxes. If Harry faces him, then that piece will be destroyed.”

Tom just looked at her.

“Your soul will never be complete if that happens,” Marina said pointedly, not getting why Tom wasn’t reacting. “So why would he –”

It hit her like a truck. Her head fell and she stared at her lap. She felt dizzy and her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

“Dumbledore never intended this plan to work, did he?” Marina whispered, fingers trembling. “Not the way I meant it, at least.”

“No,” Tom said quietly.

“He just wanted to get rid of the Horcruxes.”

“Yes.”

Marina’s head swam. “He knew from the beginning that there was only a slim chance that you’d be able to take the soul from You-Know-Who,” she breathed. “He didn’t care if you end up with an incomplete soul, he didn’t even care if you have to die… so long as You-Know-Who is defeated.”

Tom paused a long time. “Yes.”

A sea of emotions was storming in her chest as fiercely as the ocean around Azkaban - but her anger, her betrayal, and her frustration were all eclipsed by her surprise at Tom’s next words.

“You should not think too poorly of him,” he said.

Marina’s head snapped up so quickly that her neck gave an audible crack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“He changed his plan, somewhat,” Tom said evenly, “originally I do not think that he thought me able to reclaim the other Horcruxes. I believe he intended on learning what he could from me, and then having me destroyed. After your plan showed promise, he changed his mind. I think he then intended for my death only after the Horcruxes were all reclaimed.”

Marina felt a wave of heat pass across her face, but Tom was not done.

“When he saw that I was… that I had changed, especially after you were gone, he decided instead that I should attempt to integrate the Dark Lord’s soul as well, hence our search for Herpo. That I should live as long as I could, should it still be possible to defeat him.”

“Is that seriously meant to make me hate him any less right now?” Marina breathed.

Tom frowned, glancing at her hands. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m extremely angry,” she bit out. “God I should have fucking known that he’d be pulling some shit like this behind the scenes… I can’t believe I fucking _trusted_ him –”

“Marina,” Tom tilted his head, “he was only –”

“Can you stop defending him?” Marina interrupted loudly, glaring at him. “He’s been lining you up for the slaughter since day one, why the _fuck_ are you –”

“I have not always been so understanding of him,” Tom said sharply, “it has taken many years and a good deal of reflection to reach my current perspective.”

“And what exactly is that?” she said angrily.

“That I am facing the most perfect punishment for the crimes that I have committed.” Tom said loudly. “That I was so terrified of death that I killed to escape it, and now I must knowingly walk to my own death with the assurance that it is completely unavoidable and utterly essential.”

Marina stared at him, wholly taken aback.

“I was never even supposed to exist in the first place,” Tom said just as fiercely, “I should not be here, I am a relic of another time, another soul. Since my life is on borrowed time, my death is not such an unreasonable price, is it?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Marina breathed.

Tom just looked away.

“You won’t just die!” she continued shakily, “if your soul isn’t whole, you’ll be trapped in purgatory forever!”

“I know,” Tom said through a tight jaw, “immortality just as I always wanted. As I said...” he looked away again, expression stony. “It is the perfect punishment.” 

Marina shook her head, tears in her eyes. “How could Dumbledore ever think of this?” she breathed. “How could he allow such a horrible –”

“I killed someone, Marina,” Tom interrupted, voice hard. “I killed an innocent girl for no reason other than that it was necessary to my own self-serving plans.”

An ache went through her chest. “What, you think that you deserve _eternal damnation_?” Marina whispered, unable to look away from him.

Tom’s lips came together again. “I was certainly told that that was the punishment for murder many times growing up,” he murmured.

Marina stared at his face. She felt like she was in a horrible nightmare, like that fucking basilisk fang might appear in her hand at any second and she’d have to do it herself.

“You have got to promise me that you’ll try,” she said quietly, “that you’ll at least _try_ to get through this without throwing everything away.”

Tom didn’t respond, he didn’t react at all. His eyes were downturned, his entire posture so rigid that he looked almost brittle, like if she reached out and touched him he would shatter into a million pieces.

“Tom,” said Marina, almost keeping the tremor from her voice. “Your life is worth fighting for.”

He let out a small breath of a laugh, meeting her gaze. “You would be hard pressed to find many people who would agree with you in light of the cost of my survival, Marina.”

“Then it’s fucking lucky I’m here, isn’t it?” she said at once, fiercely. “I’ll do it myself since you’ve decided to be a colossal idiot about it.”

Tom smiled, seemingly despite himself. He looked at her a long time, and Marina looked back with steadfast determination. “Alright,” he said quietly, “I’ll try to do as you asked.”

“Promise?” Marina demanded, pointing at him threateningly.

“I promise,” Tom nodded, lips still quirking into a small smile.

“Good,” she grumbled, turning to sink back into the couch next to him. “ _God_ I hate Dumbledore.”

Tom gave his little laugh again. “We should get some sleep,” he said, lifting a hand to his face and rubbing his eye in a very endearing way that had Marina forcing herself to look away. “Tomorrow we go to Argos.”

“Where’s that?” she asked blandly.

“Aren’t you the archaeologist?” he smirked. “It’s near the site of Mycenae.”

“I paid attention to the stuff about the cool golden masks, not the geography,” Marina said humorously. “How did you find out where Mycenae is?”

Tom quirked a brow and pulled out his wand. Immediately a very familiar book appeared on his lap.

“Oh my god, you still have that?” Marina exclaimed in surprise, staring at the customisable encyclopaedia she’d given him for Christmas six years prior.

“Of course,” he said softly, “it has been remarkably useful over the last few years.” He opened it to the most recent entry a decent way through its many pages and Marina saw the title _Mycenae_ with a large illuminated _M_ and a beautiful drawing of some ruins in the centre of dense paragraphs of text.

“Damn, that really was a cool present,” she mused, tilting her head to admire the drawing. “How the hell am I supposed to top that this year?”

“You’re in luck,” Tom said dryly, handing her the book to let her have a better look, “Molly is insisting that no one give presents this year, considering the state of things.”

“Oh,” Marina said, disappointed. “I guess that makes sense.”

Tom stood and waved his wand at their bowls which obediently vanished into thin air. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, heading towards one of the doors leading off the room. “Given the current hour, we should aim to leave before midday.”

“Alright,” Marina nodded, watching him go with an odd feeling in her chest. “Goodnight.”

He disappeared through the door without another word. Marina looked back down at the encyclopaedia, peering at the entry on Mycenae with interest. Slowly her attention went to the pages and pages of filled entries, and she glanced back up at Tom’s door. Would it be invasive to look through them? To see what he’d read about over the last few years? Was it like – she gave a light snort of laughter – reading someone else’s diary?

Deciding against it, Marina let the book snap shut and left it on the table, beelining for the other bedroom door. The toll of the day was weighing heavily on her, and without even taking off her shoes Marina was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  SO the Easter Egg in the last chapter will be revealed... the spell that Tom used to open up the sarcophagus is the same spell that he used in the film to crack open Aragog's crate when he's showing Harry that memory. Maybe it was a bit tooooo obscure :D  
>  Hope you enjoy!! I'm very excited to write what happens next...........  
>  I'd also like to thank you all for all your lovely supportive comments for what I mentioned in the last notes. It really means the world to me. Sometimes I just go through and read all the comments you have left on my story to cheer up, because it's insane that people actually come here and read what I've written and like it enough to say something. Thank you so so much, you're really getting me through <3  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	34. Drákavlos of Kyrenaika

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **“IT WAS ALWAYS** going to be like this,” said Tom.

Marina looked up from the basilisk fang in her hand, knowing what was coming next. “No,” she said loudly, stepping away. “No, Dumbledore’s wrong. There’s a way to do this right –”

“Marina,” Tom murmured with a patience that made her heart ache, head tilting. “You know it has to be done.”

“I’m not letting this happen!” she exclaimed.

But Tom was suddenly much closer, his dark blue eyes right there in front of her, his hand gently closing around her wrist. He slowly lifted her hand, drawing it in towards him. “You can’t change it,” he whispered.

Marina tried to pull away but she couldn’t move properly, her limbs weak like she’d just woken up. “Tom, please,” she tried, shaking her head.

Tom ignored her, placing the tip of the fang against his own chest, his other hand coming up too, closing around her own. “It has to be like this,” he said, not looking away from her.

Marina could see it now that she was closer, the fear in Tom’s eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his long fingers were trembling slightly where they held hers.

“No,” Marina whispered, but Tom just looked at her, tightened his grip, and pushed hard.

The fang slid easily into his heart, black ink erupting around on his shirt at once as a short, choking breath fell from his lips.

He fell to his knees and Marina went with him, his hands still holding hers to his chest. She was crying now, silent tears streaming down her face as Tom’s head dropped, ink spilling from his lips, his eyes fluttering shut and his chest heaving as he tried to breathe. His grip on her hand became looser and looser, and she stared as the ink flowed over her fingers, staining them black.

“I’m so sorry,” Marina whispered, going to pull back from his slack grasp.

“Don’t go,” Tom choked out at once, looking up at her in panic as he tried to hold onto to her harder. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Marina woke up with a jolt, her face wet with tears. She stared quietly at the dark ceiling of her room, her hair damp on either side of her face. She laid there a long time, trying to let the ache in her chest fade before eventually admitting to herself that it wasn’t going to happen. Distantly she supposed that crying was better than screaming – at least this way she hadn’t woken up Tom. She drew a hand across her face, wiping away her tears and taking a shaky breath as she curled over and pulled the blankets up over her head, drawing her legs up and hugging them.

The look she had seen in Tom’s eyes haunted her until she finally fell asleep again.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina thanked the store vendor as politely as she could over her own sinking disappointment and stepped out of the little book shop onto the broad, paved plaza outside. It was absolutely bustling despite the relatively chilly day, the crowd completely eclipsing Diagon Alley’s meagre population. The Mediterranean wizarding community was in a much less dire state than that of England, and Marina’s attention was constantly drawn by the delicious smells coming from packed food stalls, the bizarre animals milling around, and the different style of the robes everyone was wearing, mostly white with intricate and colourful trims.

She sped down the street towards the large amphitheatre that loomed at the far end of the plaza where her and Tom agreed to meet, distinctly aware that she was technically late. They’d been asking around wizarding Argos for a few days, but no one had anything to tell them – not even a hint of a whisper of a rumour of a legend pertaining to Herpo, basilisks, or anything sounding vaguely Horcrux-y.

By the huge steps of the amphitheatre, Marina barely had a chance to look around before Tom appeared looking about his regular amount of annoyed at her. She ignored the little fluttering in her stomach that had begun rearing up whenever she saw him as of late, steadfastly blaming it on the fact that she was once again coming to him empty handed.

“You’re late,” he said at once, pointedly.

“I know,” she rolled her eyes, amused.

“Anything?” he frowned, serious at once.

Marina shook her head. “You?”

The look on his face was answer enough.

Marina sighed. “How hard can it be to find a creepy three thousand year old man surrounded by basilisks?” she grumbled.

“Very,” Tom said, giving her a dry look.

When he lightly touched her back as they wove through the crowd to keep track of her in the lively throng of people, Marina staunchly ignored her fluttering stomach all over again.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“I really thought we’d be able to find something out here,” Marina frowned as they made their way out of the Mycenaean ruins for the second time that week. “Isn’t it weird that we haven’t found _anything_?”

“Herpo evidently never wished to be found,” Tom said, looking around disinterestedly at the meagre December crowd of Muggle tourists. “I hardly think that it’s surprising.”

Marina grit her teeth. She was beginning to worry that they really might not find anything after all.

“Marina,” Tom said, giving her a knowing look as they wandered down the path away from the ruins. “It’s not even been a week – Dumbledore and I searched for nearly two years.”

“Yeah, I know,” she muttered. “It’s just frustrating.”

They wove around the hill to find their Portkey again, and Marina picked up the tambourine-sized mosaic disc from where they’d hidden it in the trunk of a tree as their departure time grew closer and closer.

“Don’t throw up this time,” Tom said, smirking as he placed his hand on the disc next to hers.

“I _didn’t_ throw up!” Marina protested, kicking his leg lightly. “I _balked_ at most _!_ ”

He gave her a very smug look but before she could retaliate, the Portkey activated and they were twisting horribly and then –

They were back in the wizarding streets of Corinth and Marina promptly wrenched the Portkey from Tom’s hand to go give it back to the witch they’d rented it from.

“See?” she said pointedly. “Didn’t throw up.”

“This time,” he sniggered, turning away before she could kick him again.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina closely followed Tom through the boisterous crowd so that she wouldn’t lose him again, resisting the urge to take hold of his sleeve as a broad-shouldered witch nearly knocked her away from him. She’d managed to get lost the day before and had spent a stressful twenty minutes wondering if she’d be lost in the backstreets of wizarding Athens forever. Luckily, they were soon standing before an impossibly huge building with towering columns that Tom passed beneath without a second glance, confidently making his way up the steps and inside. Marina trailed behind, neck hurting from how much she was craning it to look at everything. It was some sort of library, filled with scholarly looking witches and wizards with long scrolls in their arms and serious spectacles on their faces.

“Why are we here?” Marina whispered, automatically feeling the need to speak in a hushed tone.

Tom didn’t reply, he just nodded in front of them. A tall, very tanned wizard in a white and green robe was waiting for them – he had thick brows, pitch black curly hair, and a dark beard, and on his hands were a plethora of glittering rings and bangles.

“Ah, Tom,” he said warmly as they approached, holding out his hands jovially. “Good to see you again.”

“Angelos,” Tom greeted politely.

Angelos seized Marina’s hands at once, eyes sparkling. “You must be Marina,” he said, smiling broadly.

Marina cast Tom a look, but he only shrugged. “Yeah,” she said awkwardly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Tom did not mention that you were a beauty,” Angelos said with a playful expression.

“Angelos,” Tom said again, much more sharply – but Marina was laughing.

“There’s a reason,” she snorted, drawing back her hands. “But thanks.”

The wizard before them raised his bejewelled hands in polite surrender, but he still looked playful. Marina decided that she rather liked him.

“You mentioned documents on a particular ruin when we spoke last,” Tom continued pressingly.

“Straight to business, aren’t you?” Angelos smiled broadly. “Very well, this way…”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“Oh my _god_ , can you hurry up,” Marina drawled teasingly, leaning heavily against the open door and staring out at the sky in mock despair.

Tom gave her a very sarcastic look as he approached. “I had to pay for our meal.”

“Excuses,” she smirked, letting him exit the inn before her as they headed off down the street. “Where’s Angelos?”

“Meeting us there,” Tom said stiffly.

“I’m so excited,” Marina beamed, skipping slightly. “Like, don’t get me wrong, walking around Mycenae was pretty amazing regardless, but we’ve never been to the _wizarding_ ruins before. I didn’t even know there _was_ a wizarding part of Mycenae –”

“It is lucky that Angelos agreed to be our guide,” Tom said evenly, looking out across the plaza as they wove through the crowd, “I thought perhaps we might fare better with some local expertise.”

“You’re kidding yourself if you think I’m going to be at all useful today,” Marina snorted, watching with interest as an old wizard shepherded a small flock of brilliant gold sheep down a nearby sidestreet. “I’m going to be so super distracted.”

“We are going to look for Herpo’s former residence, not as tourists,” said Tom pointedly.

“ _You_ can look for Herpo’s former residence, _I’m_ going as a tourist,” Marina grinned.

He shook his head disparagingly, but Marina thought that she caught a smile on his face before he looked away.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“Do not be disheartened, Marina,” Angelos said gently as they passed back under the Lion’s Gate out of Mycenae, still empty-handed. “There are still many places to search.”

“I know,” she mumbled. She turned to look at the carvings again, the two lions leaning up on the platform towards each other and the tall column between them. She couldn’t help but stare at it every time they went past – something about it niggled at her, a thought in her head like a beetle wriggling around in loose soil. “Hey – Angelos –”

The wizard was at her side in an instant, placing an easy hand on her opposite shoulder. Marina gestured up at the carvings above them. “What do you know about this?”

“It is the oldest Grecian monumental carving in the world,” Angelos said, looking up at it with her. “You Muggles do make such impressive things without magic, don’t you?”

“Why are the lions facing a column?” said Tom from beside Marina. He sounded oddly curt – Marina supposed that the repeated disappointments of their search were finally getting to him. 

“A mystery,” Angelos smiled. “Though it may hint towards the cultural influences of the Mycenaeans. Note that the column is as wide at the top as at the bottom.”

“What does that mean?” Tom asked, frowning at the carving.

“Greek columns taper, don’t they?” Marina asked, looking at Angelos for confirmation.

He nodded. “The straight column, and the plinth upon which the lions’ feet rest… it is of Minoan influence.”

“Oh yeah,” Marina said, feeling stupid. “I forgot about the Minoans.”

“So did the rest of the world,” Angelos smiled as he turned away, guiding her with him. “They disappeared without a trace of explanation thousands of years ago.”

“Left behind some cool palaces, though,” Marina grinned as they continued down the path, Angelos' hand still resting easily on her shoulder.

“That they did,” Angelos said jovially, “if you ever visit Crete, I must insist that you visit them…”

“If we go to Crete, I’m insisting on that myself,” Marina said playfully, nudging Tom.

Rather unusually, he did not rise to her teasing, and Marina thought that there was something slightly forced about his demeanour as they made their way back to Athens.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Two days later, Marina collapsed heavily into the seat next to Tom where he had ancient parchments spread out in an arc on the desk before him. It was past dinner time and they were still holed up in the sprawling, chaotic archives beneath Angelos’ library. Usually Marina was enthralled by the place – texts floated around of their own accord, the colourful mosaic figures of people and animals along the walls would move captivatingly, and she had once seen a Veela woman carrying an armful of scrolls who was so beautiful that Marina had forgotten how to walk for a good five minutes. Today, however, she rested her head heavily on her palm and sighed – she was very hungry and very tired.

“I’ll be one more hour,” Tom said distractedly, pouring over a yellowing parchment.

“Yeah, yeah,” Marina muttered. She had heard him say that before, and it was never, _never_ just one more hour.

She glanced over his shoulder at what he was looking at. It was a very good drawing of the inside of a ruin, the crumbling base of a wall visible – upon which was painted a strikingly recognisable form that spanned its whole length.

“Is that a snake?” she asked, surprised.

“I believe that it is a basilisk,” he muttered, “they were once depicted with a feathered plume like that.”

“What are you looking at exactly?” Marina said, squinting at the drawing with interest.

“An artist’s rendition of the ruins of a house in Mycenae.” He gave her a pointed look. “From the wizarding quarters.”

Marina gaped at him. “Herpo’s residence?”

“Perhaps,” Tom said in a measured tone, looking back at the drawing. “The ruins were destroyed some time ago, hence why we didn’t find them ourselves. This drawing is all that remains of its existence.”

“What does it say about the paintings?” Marina said quickly, nodding at the long paragraphs of text fringing the drawing.

“Nothing,” Tom said evenly, “it merely discusses wizarding Mycenae as a whole. The fact that the artist captured the image of the basilisk appears to be pure chance.”

But Marina was peering closer at the document. Next to the ruin, the artist had drawn a series of broken pieces of pottery with incredible detail and painted with watercolours. “What are those?”

“They were excavated from the house,” Tom said slowly, watching her. “Why?”

Marina reached forward and pulled the document from in front Tom to before herself, leaning over it attentively. On the broken sherds she could see the fractured image of long, tentacled arms. One fragment showed two long white oval eyes with large, rather cute black pupils.

“It was decorated with an octopus,” she murmured.

Tom leaned in too, so close that Marina could feel warmth on her shoulder and realised that he had rested his elbow on the back of her chair. She frowned slightly, forcing herself to stay focused on the paintings of the sherds.

“Does that mean something to you?” Tom asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Marina said, shifting awkwardly. “Uh, you – you remember the Minoans?”

“From the Lion’s Gate?” Tom looked up at her, surprised.

Marina stared back. He was very close. So close, in fact, that she could see each of his dark eyelashes and the patterns in the deep blue of his eyes, the rich smoothness of his skin, and the little shadows cast beneath his cheekbones. She could even see the few strands of hair that had separated from the soft wave that fell across his forehead, they would be very easy to brush back into place –

“Yeah,” Marina said blankly. “Uh – so they liked octopuses.”

Tom slowly arched a dark, elegant brow, a movement that she could not help but track. “They liked octopuses,” he repeated, sounding rather amused.

Hearing him say it back to her made Marina realise exactly how stupid she sounded.

“Yeah,” Marina said, wrenching her eyes off of Tom’s face and pointedly looking back at the drawings as she tried to shake the warm feeling on her skin.

“Are you alright?” asked Tom, still sounding amused. “You’re being uncharacteristically breviloquent.”

“I’m fine,” Marina said awkwardly, too distracted to even tease him for using the word _breviloquent_ in regular speech. “Just tired. What I mean is, if that really was Herpo’s house, he has some very typical Minoan style pottery in his floor.” She resolutely stared at the drawing of the ruin, and then noticed something.

“And,” she said triumphantly, pointing at the little paintings decorating the ruin's base beneath the basilisk, “those repeating, kind of flowy patterns along the bottom of the walls are pretty classic Minoan, too.”

“To Crete after all,” Tom murmured, looking intently at where she was pointing.

“Just like that?” Marina asked, glancing at him with surprise.

“We have no other leads,” he said evenly. “If this was indeed Herpo’s residence, and he had these artefacts –”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Crete,” Marina said dreamily. “If we don’t get a chance to go to Knossos, I’ll literally never forgive you.”

“Please try to stay focused, Marina,” Tom said dryly. “Need I remind you that there is a war going on.”

“You can’t take me to one of the coolest archaeological sites in the whole world and not expect me to utterly nerd out about it,” she grinned at him.

Tom didn’t deign to reply as he stared at her, probably rendered silent by the ridiculousness of this statement.

“Are you alright?” she smirked, nudging his shoe with her toe. “You’re being _uncharacteristically breviloquent_.”

Tom rolled his eyes and stood. “I’ll be sure to thank Angelos for giving us access to his archives,” he said busily, rolling up the parchment. “He has won us our first lead.”

“Excuse you, I believe that honour remains _mine_ ,” Marina said with mock indignancy, lounging in her chair. “Recognising the Mycenaean death mask, and all that. You can thank him for our second or third lead at _best._ ”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina sat up as Tom burst into their room, throwing down the brochure on the Palace of Knossos that she’d been longingly studying. “What happened?” she asked immediately, seeing his animated expression.

“After we spoke to that librarian, I checked in again with the Magical Ministry and managed to gain access to their records,” Tom said quickly, falling into the seat next to her on the couch.

“Managed to gain access?” Marina repeated with amusement. “Charmed your way in, you mean, that poor secretary...”

“Perhaps there was some charming involved,” he said with a sly smile, swatting Marina’s hand away as she poked his ribs. “Point being, there have been a series of disappearances off the island in question for as far back as the records span.”

“No one thought to do anything about that?” Marina deadpanned.

“They did,” Tom said at once, “only one person ever returned.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing,” he said pointedly, staring at her with an infectious spark in his eyes, “they washed upon shore five years after their disappearance. They were petrified."

Marina’s brows shot up. “Huh,” she said, looking out the window at the sprawling cityscape of Heraklion. “Maybe we really got something.”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina fell into the seat closest to the rail of the ferry, staring out at the beautiful ocean before them. It was a gorgeous day, the sky a bright cerulean blue without a hint of clouds, and the sun bright on the glittering sea – but Marina was feeling cold and dreary, her face expressionless.

“Marina,” Tom said quietly from beside her.

Her grip tightened on the black fabric that still encased the golden death mask on her lap. They had retrieved it less than half an hour ago, having left it as late as they possibly could, and yet its effects were already so potent that she could barely muster herself to look at him.

“I'm fine,” she said dully. “I just… I didn’t miss this.”

“It’s not far,” he said softly, nodding at the distant hint of land off the shore as he sat down next to her. “The island we’re looking for is just off of that one there. I’ve arranged for a local fisherman to take us to where the disappearances are thought to have occurred.”

Marina knew she should be more excited. It had been nearly two weeks since they had first found the mask in her lap and suddenly, despite failure after failure, it really felt like they could be at the finish line – but she felt nothing but that relentless leaden weight in her limbs and the hollow jitteriness in her heart.

The ferry’s bell chimed out and they pulled away onto the water. Marina took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the creeping, feverish chill that was spreading across her body.

“Hey,” she said listlessly. “About that night when we first found the mask –”

“If you apologise for that again, I’ll throw you overboard,” Tom said smoothly, leaning back in his seat. “The first four times were sufficient, I assure you.”

Marina gave a weak smile.

It was a fairly brief journey but it was made infinitely longer by the heaviness settling in Marina’s bones, like she was slowly being filled up with cold cement. When they arrived, Tom immediately headed off the ferry down to a smaller dock where a tiny rowboat was moored, Marina having to jog lightly every now and then to keep in pace with his long strides. Next to the little boat was a surly, very unhappy looking man with deeply tanned skin, a broad moustache, and a wrinkled, weathered face. He was standing with his huge arms folded across his barrelled chest, frowning at the two of them approaching.

When they drew near him, the man held out his hand by means of greeting and Marina thought that he meant to shake their hand before realising that his palm was upturned. Tom drew out a pouch that jingled considerably and handed it to him, and the man immediately opened it and peered inside with a squinting eye. Evidently he was satisfied since he jerked his hand at his boat and went to untie the rope holding it to shore.

“Where did you get that much money?” Marina whispered as they got into the boat and sat down.

“The Death Eaters have deep pockets,” he replied quietly. 

The surly man returned and stepped heavily into the little boat, sending the thing rocking wildly. Marina was roughly thrown against Tom’s shoulder and he caught her quickly, his hands lingering to stabilise her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, immediately shirking away.

Tom hesitated for a fraction of a second. “You’re welcome,” he said evenly, looking away too.

The man began to row with huge, powerful strokes that sent them gliding through the water with ease. Marina watched the bright blue waves with an impassive expression, knowing that if she didn’t have her arms wrapped around the horrible mask, she’d be captivated by the sight. The dock and the ferry they’d arrived on quickly grew smaller and smaller, and Marina fixed her eyes on the fisherman’s scuffed sandals rather than have to look out at the uncomfortably sunny sea.

“Marina,” Tom said quietly.

She tilted her head towards him, too tired to reply or even look up.

“We’re close."

It was enough to raise her head. Sure enough, a craggy waste of an island was drawing into view before them behind the form of their oarsman, whose face had somehow become even more sullen than before.

The spit of land was a sparse jutting rock with water-weathered caves and gorges visible even at a distance. Not a thing grew on it, and it was baked bone white under the astringent sunlight. There was only one beach, a small smear of white sand against which the fisherman drew the boat but refused to it touch himself – he just gestured at them to leave whilst glaring angrily back the way they’d come.

“We should hurry,” Tom muttered as he stepped out of the boat, “I doubt he will wait for us long.”

He turned and offered Marina his hand, but she ignored him with a hard feeling in her stomach. Pretending like she hadn’t seen it, she clambered out of the boat herself. “Can’t you just Apparate back?” she asked dully, turning towards the looming shelf of white rock to avoid looking at him.

“This island repels Apparation,” Tom said from behind her, tone inscrutable. “Let’s go.”

They wandered towards the crag of rock before them, passing by dark entrances to caverns that looked to have been slowly weathered by rushing water and the crashing waves.

“How are we going to find the right one?” Marina asked dully, waving a heavy hand at one of the nearby caves.

“Perhaps we already have,” Tom said curiously, attention grabbed by something on the ground before them.

Marina half-heartedly trailed after him with down-turned eyes, nearly bowling straight into him when he suddenly stopped.

“Look,” he said quietly.

On the rocks before them and spilling out of the mouth of a dark cave, Marina saw a tide of hundreds and hundreds of skeletons. It was hard to tell exactly what they would have once been, some looked like they might be sea creatures, others birds – but there were so many that they blurred together into a sea of sun-bleached bones littered with straggles of green seaweed. With a jolt, Marina suddenly realised that there was a very good chance that she was about to come face to face with a basilisk.

Next to her, Tom drew his wand. “Come on,” he muttered, and he stepped onto the bones and through the mouth of the cave.

Marina followed quickly, staying close beside him. If she was really going to meet a basilisk, she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather be with than Tom.

The cave grew dark almost unnaturally quickly, like the light from outside was being consumed by the very walls. Tom lit his wand and kept going, ignoring the cracking and snapping of little bones beneath his feet on the steadily sloping floor of the cave. Marina on the other hand was feeling worse and worse; the feverishness was getting more intense and she felt like her head was spinning even when she was looking dead straight ahead.

“Tom,” Marina whispered, shivering.

He turned at once. When he saw her face, his expression turned hard and his wandless hand went to her shoulder - though she barely felt it. “Do you have the flint?” he asked, eyes roaming her face.

She nodded, opening her hand to show him. “It’s not – it doesn’t –”

But her jaw was trembling too much for her to speak.

A crease appeared between his brows and he quickly cast the charms over her. Marina’s shoulders hunched, trying to focus on the feeling of warmth that the charms had brought even as she could already feel it diminishing.

Tom gave a sharp breath through his nose, sounding frustrated. “This will be over soon,” he said in a low voice, turning back to the darkness ahead.

Marina nodded and stumbled after him. Time was bleeding together again, and before she knew it, the walls of the cave were drawing away and they entered into a dark, cool cavern deep in the island. Tom froze, holding up his wand ahead of them to let the light fall forward.

They both saw him at the same time.

In the centre of the cavern sat a man, though at first Marina thought him another skeleton. He was cross-legged, so thin that his elbows and knees bulged monstrously next to the narrow lengths of his limbs, and the bony juts of his vertebrae on his neck protruded so sharply that they seemed close to piercing his skin – though it didn’t much look like skin anymore. Grey and sallow, drawn and papery, it sagged on his bones and was so dry that Marina could see vast swathes of it peeling away like he was shedding it. His hair was nothing but strands of white cobwebs dangling from his skull – and it looked very much like a skull. His eyes were so shadowed and sunken that the full borders of his eye sockets were visible, his deeply sunken cheeks casting the bony struts above into mountains, like the human face that might have once resembled the mask in Marina's arms had been eroded away.

Most disturbing of all was his mouth. His jaw hung loose from his head, his lipless maw wide and dark. All of his teeth were long gone and the jawbone that had once held them had receded away, having been rendered useless. The gaping, grinning hole left behind made him leer snake-like in the darkness.

Herpo had not moved at the sound of their approach, hardly undetectable due to the bone-littered cave. The only sign that he was even alive was his slow breathing, his ribbed chest heaving with it laboriously beneath his tattered tunic, the rasping sounds of each breath crossing his yawning mouth nearly disguised by the distant waves far behind them.

Marina looked away from his horrible, skeletal face, feeling sick. “Should we talk to him?” she whispered, wanting nothing less.

Tom was frowning, staring at the man with a mix of disgust and captivation. “I don’t think he will respond, unless…” He visibly set his jaw and stepped forward, wand still raised.

A long, drawn out hissing sound gently filled the cavern, starting low and quiet and resonating louder and louder before fading away again, and Marina realised much too late that it had come from Tom. Herpo’s breathing stuttered. Slowly his skull began to raise on his rake-thin neck, his jaw still wide. There was an ear-splitting silence. Then, Herpo’s slack jaw slowly creaked up, and a skin-crawling low hiss came from his emaciated form.

Tom took a long, tense breath beside her, understanding what she could not. “He will speak to me,” Tom muttered, grip tightening on his wand.

Another hiss fell from Tom’s lips, and Herpo’s head jerked to Marina. She felt her heart stop as the black pits of his eyes met hers and Parseltongue echoed out once more.

“Give him the Horcrux,” Tom said quietly.

Marina looked around at him, terrified. The idea of coming any closer to the figure before them filled her abhorrence and nausea. She pressed her lips together, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as she turned back to Herpo; the caverns of his eyes were still fixed on her hungrily.

She forced herself to step forward, pulling at the black fabric covering of the mask. Fragile little bones cracked beneath her feet as she revealed the golden face beneath and she held it out to Herpo with shaking hands, still using the fabric to avoid touching the thing with her skin.

With astonishing quickness, Herpo’s skeletal hands struck out and seized the mask, so fast that Marina stepped back in fright. She tripped on the bone-littered floor and fell but Tom immediately caught her, stopping her from hitting the ground as his arms hooked under hers from behind. Marina grasped at him in panic, scrambling backwards away from Herpo even as she was unable to look away from his haunting face. Tom’s arm moved firmly around her shoulders and she held tightly onto his shirt, fear coursing through her as she stared wide-eyed and horrified at Herpo.

A hiss came from Herpo’s mouth as he stared mesmerised down into the mask’s golden eyes, louder, echoing through the weathered holes in the rock around them. Marina felt Tom stiffen and his other arm quickly came up behind her, placing his hand on the back of her head and pulling her face into his chest. “Close your eyes,” he said sharply, holding her there tightly. “Don’t look up.”

Marina nodded, clamping her eyes shut and forcing a deep breath despite her racing pulse as she pressed her forehead against his chest. She could hear something else behind them, the dry sound of scales sliding on rock, something huge moving in the unknown space behind her, a low, deafening hiss rumbling through her very core. Shivers erupted all over her body and Tom’s arms around her tightened.

The basilisk had come.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  There's like, a LOT of archaeology in this so if you don't like it, don't worry, it's OVER NOW. (I love the Minoans guys, let me live my true fantasy...)  
>  Also, I was so planning on writing a scene in the little montage sequence where a local resident mistakes Tom and Marina as a couple on their honeymoon and they both get really embarrassed, but I couldn't quite fit it in, lmao. Just know in your hearts that it's canon, that happened at some point :P  
>  Thank you SO much for your comments, I love them heaps :D  
>  I have the best audience ever??  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	35. The Silence In Between

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA COULD HEAR** Tom and Herpo speaking in Parseltongue, the whispering sounds of it filling the cavern, echoing, creeping down her spine, drowning out every thought in her mind. She closed her eyes tighter and her fingers curled into fists of Tom’s shirt. She wished that they would just leave, that he would just figure out what they needed to know and they could get out of this horrible cave with its ghastly, hellish residents, and never ever come back.

Suddenly there was nothing but ringing silence. Marina went to look up, but Tom held her firm. “Not yet,” he breathed.

“Did he tell you?” she whispered. “Does he know if you can...”

“I’m trying,” he said hollowly, “he is not… particularly lucid.”

Tom said something in Parseltongue and Marina waited with baited breath for Herpo’s reply – but it did not come. After a long, drawn out moment, she heard something that was as stomach-turning as it was soul-crushing.

Herpo was laughing. It rasped from him, low, haunting cackles separated by long pauses that made Marina’s skin crawl, only exacerbated by the cracking and popping of bones being crushed beneath a monstrous body sliding somewhere nearby.

“Don’t open your eyes,” Tom hissed, sharply turning her around by the shoulders and pushing her back the way they came. Marina stumbled on the uneven floor and the bones that covered every inch of it, but Tom’s hands held her tightly and she didn’t even worry about falling.

A strange wrenching sound like metal being torn came from behind them, and Herpo’s laughs grew louder behind them as Tom pushed her quickly across the cavern.

“What’s going – ” she whispered, voice trembling.

Suddenly there was a loud clanging sound of something hitting the wall in front of her and she jumped. Tom sped up their pace as an almighty hiss rung out from the huge snake behind them, followed by a sickening, wet crunch. Herpo’s laughter was briefly punctured by a breathy gasp, and Marina understood.

“Is he…?” she breathed, feeling sick.

“Yes,” Tom muttered forcefully. “Don’t look.”

Herpo’s rasping, dying laughs echoed after them as Tom guided her blind up the cavern. He didn’t even pause when they reached the mouth of the cave, commanding that she keep her eyes shut and pulling her all the way back to the little beach.

The second they were at the boat he let her go and Marina opened her eyes in surprise.

“Get in,” Tom said blankly, holding the edge of the boat steady.

She glanced at him, tempted to ask him what had happened, if he was alright – but there was a decidedly agitated edge to the tension in his jaw so she quickly did as he asked. The second he had sat down after her, the scowling fisherman pushed them off the beach with an oar and they were speeding off across the water.

A surreal moment of peaceful silence fell, the calm sounds of the waves and the distant calls of seabirds a stark contrast to the noises of the basilisk’s teeth sinking into Herpo's body in the unknown darkness. Their ferryman said nothing, ignoring them completely as he drew them back towards the distant island. Marina wondered if he had noticed that the black parcel they’d brought was now missing.

She chanced a glance at Tom. He was sitting dead straight, one hand on the edge of the boat so tight that his knuckles were white, the other on his leg looking misleadingly relaxed. His face was turned away from her, looking out over the waves silently.

“Tom,” she said quietly.

Against his leg, Tom’s fingers drew into a fist and Marina saw something work in his jaw. He didn’t look around at her.

Cold, resigned dread leaking into her chest. His response could only mean…

She looked out at the ocean herself, watching the sun dance across the blue waves. Marina thought that maybe she would cry if she had more energy.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

They were very quiet as they arranged their return to England. As Marina shoved her toothbrush into her bag, she took a long breath and leaned on the sink, staring at it unseeingly. Tom hadn’t said what had transpired between him and Herpo, but it hardly mattered – his absolute blank expression and utter silence since getting out of the cave spoke volumes.

Marina hung her head, closing her eyes and breathed deeply again. It had been their best chance, finding the person responsible for Horcrux magic and learning what they could, and they had nothing. Herpo had literally laughed in their faces.

“Marina.”

She didn’t look around, didn’t even open her eyes. “Yeah.”

“The Portkey leaves soon,” Tom said from the door.

“Okay.”

There was a brief silence, and then Marina heard him turn and leave. She grit her teeth, wondering when she would finally cry.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina stared impassively at the Burrow before her once they appeared in the little front yard, ignoring the sick feeling from Apparating as she followed Tom into the house. She looked around the familiar, cluttered lounge blankly. It was very late. No one was up, and the fireplace smouldered its last embers in front of the couches, casting a low glow across the homely room. She could see signs of the Weasleys’ evening around the place, empty mugs still on the coffee table, the radio for Potterwatch in position dead centre, a few blankets and jumpers still hanging over the backs of chairs.

Marina took a few steps forward, dropped her bag onto the floor, and fell listlessly into one of the couches. After a second, Tom approached and sat next to her. There was a long pause, the gentle crackling of the fireplace the only sound Marina could hear other than their breathing.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

Tom didn’t move, and he hesitated for some time before answering. “I explained my situation,” he said, tone deceptively even, “he was surprisingly uninterested in the fact that I was originally a Horcrux. He effectively asked if I had to either draw the soul from my original creator, or die and exist forever in whatever state that would entail. I said yes, and asked him if he knew how to do so.”

He stopped, and Marina looked around at him. Tom’s gaze was somewhere in front of them, his posture strangely formal, his hands gently clasped in his lap. His face was relaxed, but even in profile she could see that his eyes were burning with whatever emotion was storming behind his composed expression.

“That was when he started laughing,” Tom said mechanically, looking down at his hands.

Marina looked back at the coffee table as the fireplace crackled and popped with juxtaposed cheer. A lot was happening in her chest. There was disappointment, anger, sadness, the impulse to burst into tears, the equally strong impulse to break something – but stronger than anything was an exhaustion she had not felt since she’d been lying in St Mungo’s after getting back from Albania, wondering how the hell they were going to carry on, how they were supposed to go through it all over again. It seemed so long ago, so precious that she’d thought that things were so bad back then when she thought about where they were now.

The implications of their failure hung unspoken and suffocatingly heavy over them, and Marina felt it so strongly that it was as if she was being crushed down into the couch by the weight of it. Tom had remained stock still and completely composed beside her, but she was not deceived.

She thought distantly about Mrs Weasley hugging him a few weeks ago. Feeling like it would be too much to do the same, she let her head fall onto Tom’s shoulder with a soft thud, still staring at the coffee table. Surely it would be okay, this small gesture of camaraderie, such a very low-risk expression of comfort. In her peripheral vision she saw him look down at her, and distantly she wondered if perhaps he would ask her to move after all – but after a moment he just turned his face towards the fire and said nothing.

It was still dark when Marina awoke. Her eyes opened heavily, taking in the still, quiet lounge, the fireplace having long died out. She felt oddly warm, and it took her a moment to realise that she was still sat on the couch leaning on Tom’s shoulder, that his head was resting on hers too. They’d both fallen asleep there, propped against each other.

Marina blinked slowly. If she moved, she would wake Tom. They would both sit up, pretend nothing weird had happened, stand, go off to their rooms by themselves with very casual goodnights, and probably never acknowledge it ever again.

_But…_

But if she closed her eyes again, if she went back to sleep and pretended that she hadn’t woken up, if she just leaned into the warmth next to her…

A frown tore down her face and she bolted upright, standing in one swift motion. Tom awoke at once as her head suddenly disappeared from under his, looking up at her as she stretched her arms up as casually as she could.

“I’m exhausted,” she said over a fake yawn, not looking around at him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Without waiting for his reply, Marina seized her bag from the ground and climbed the stairs two at a time. She shut the door to Ginny’s room and breathed a long sigh as she let her forehead fall against the wood with a thunk.

She didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to acknowledge it, knowing it was there but refusing to look at it in the eye – but it had to stop. Marina grit her teeth. It _had_ to stop. The stupid fluttering in her stomach when she saw him, the staring at him, the way she had just reacted downstairs – all of it needed to stop before she absolutely ruined everything so monumentally that it was almost comical.

They were in the middle of a war, and Tom had just found out that he was going to have to sacrifice himself and linger in fucking purgatory for the rest of eternity so that they could take down his evil former self who had grown up to start a genocide against people like her. And that wasn’t even getting into the absolute insanity that was her history with Tom in the first place.

It was just about the worst time, the worst place, and the worst person she could possibly get a crush on.

“Idiot,” Marina breathed through clenched teeth, smacking her forehead against the door. “Idiot. You fucking idiot.”

She dropped her bag onto the floor and kicked it dully. “You are so fucking stupid,” she said to the bag heatlessly. “Get your head out of the clouds and fucking stop it. You could have died today, and you found out that the worst possible fate imaginable is going to happen to someone you care about very much."

Marina’s bag did not reply, and she stared at it glumly. Unprecedented, the memory of Tom’s arms around her in the cave filled her head and she angrily kicked the bag again.

“ _Not_ the most important thing that happened in that fucking cave,” she muttered furiously, turning to the bed and flinging herself onto it and beating her pillow into something comfortable. “You met a three thousand year old man and a snake that could kill you by looking at it, focus on _that,_ why don’t you.”

Marina buried her face in her pillow and held her breath for a very long time, waiting until her chest went unbearably tight and her pulse was thundering before relenting and letting it go, long and agitated.

“Idiot,” she muttered into the depths of the pillow. “He probably needs legitimate emotional support right now and you’re too busy fucking running away to deal with a stupid little personal crisis. Get your shit together, you’re being a terrible friend.”

Marina forced herself to roll over and kicked off her shoes over the edge of the bed, not bothering to get changed before burrowing under the covers and falling still with a sharp sigh. She just needed to go the hell to sleep and wake up the next morning and never ever think about it ever again –

_He smells really nice._

_“Fuck!_ ” Marina exclaimed angrily, probably too loudly. She pressed her palms into her eyes and shook her head. “Shut _up,_ oh my _god…”_

She let out a curt breath and rolled over, forcing herself to go to sleep, mostly just furious that she was right – he did smell really nice, and no matter how much she grit her teeth, there was really nothing she could do about knowing that.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Charlie burst into her room the next morning, beaming. “You’re back!” he said loudly as he fell onto her bed, seizing her by the shoulders and pulling her upright.

“Nnnghf,” mumbled Marina, squinting at him through a mess of hair.

He snickered and hugged her tightly, squeezing so hard that she choked out a cough.

“Charlie,” she gasped, “my ribs are breaking –”

“I can’t believe you didn’t come wake me up when you got in!” Charlie said exuberantly, letting her go.

“It was really late,” she muttered, not wanting to think about the previous night in the slightest. She pushed her hair out of her face and rolled her shoulders out, grimacing.

“I hear things didn’t go so well,” Charlie said, cocking his head with a decidedly more tactful look on his face.

“Did you?” she frowned as she stretched.

“Tom’s already downstairs,” he said by way of explanation.

“Oh,” Marina said, not looking him in the eye. “Yeah. No, it didn’t.”

“Are you okay?” he asked carefully.

“Am _I_ okay?” she repeated incredulously. “Not really the most important question, is it?”

“Marina,” he said patiently, “you’re affected by this, too.”

“Not as much as him,” she said swiftly, kicking back the covers. “Now get out, I need to get changed.”

Charlie looked on the verge of pushing it, but instead he stood and went to the door. “Hungry?”

“Ravenous,” Marina grinned, getting up and stretching forward again, wincing at how tight her leg muscles had become.

“I’ll get you breakfast,” he said with a smirk as he left.

“I love you!” she called after him, turning to the dresser. She was very relieved to be able to wear something other than the same three sets of clothes she’d taken with them to Greece.

After wrestling her hair into a ponytail that she carelessly braided to avoid having to deal with it, Marina sped down the stairs into the kitchen. Mrs Weasley gave a loud cry when she saw her and immediately pulled her into a wonderful hug which she returned with gusto.

“So good to have you back, dear,” Mrs Weasley said warmly, leaning back and squeezing her shoulders. “And I’m so sorry to hear about –”

“Yeah,” Marina said quickly, glancing at Tom who was sitting at the kitchen table with a wide-brimmed cup in one hand, sipping it rather elegantly. He did not look up. “Yeah, I know,” Marina finished, frowning.

Mrs Weasley placed a comforting hand on her cheek and gave her a sad smile. “Let’s get some breakfast into you,” she said, turning away. “Charlie, do you have Marina's –”

Charlie pushed a plate of homemade hash browns and two sausages into Marina’s hands, and she gave him a look of deep reverence. “I literally adore you,” she said passionately, sinking into the seat opposite Tom and immediately beginning to eat. “Hey – Tom –”

His eyes flashed up to hers at once, and Marina blithely ignored the way her heart skipped a beat. “Remember in Corinth when we tried to get breakfast at that one stall,” she grinned, playing it off, “and they gave us bloody fish food because we had accidentally gone to a place for ichthyocentaurs.”

“I do,” he said smoothly, his gaze on her face so measured that she felt like shivering, “though you still ate some of it, if I recall.”

Charlie guffawed, and choked on his food at once. “You _ate_ some?”

“They were still _watching_ and I didn’t want to be _rude_!” Marina said loudly, before glaring at Tom. “Thanks, he’s never going to let that go…”

“You ate _fish food_ ,” Charlie whispered to his plate, looking like Christmas had come two weeks early. “That’s _brilliant…”_

“Yes I know, I’m deeply stupid,” Marina grumbled, regretting bringing it up. “Can we move on?”

“I will be leaving for a short time,” Tom said casually.

Marina dropped her fork and it clattered onto her plate loudly. Silence fell upon the kitchen at once.

“What?” she said quietly, staring at him.

“I have matters to attend to,” he continued, looking utterly unperturbed by her reaction. “My frequent travels have somewhat drawn the attention of the Death Eaters, and I think it best if I remain at Malfoy Manor for a time until things return to normal.”

“How long?” Marina said at once.

“A week or so,” he said calmly, sipping his tea.

“Oh,” Marina said, unnaturally loud. She picked up her fork and stared at her food as she pushed it around, appetite suddenly non-existant.

“It’s only a week, Marina,” Mrs Weasley said gently, hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be back soon, don’t you worry.”

Marina nodded rather numbly. She wasn’t listening as they went on discussing it, finishing her food slowly and washing up with slightly stilted movements. If Tom was going away, last night had really been her chance to talk to him properly about what had happened and she’d wasted it agonising over her stupid misplaced crush. Now he was going to be surrounded by Death Eaters and for a week straight with no one to talk to right after finding out that he was going to have to –

“Marina,” Tom said quietly.

She jumped and wheeled around from where she’d been washing her plate to find the kitchen empty except for him. She hadn’t even noticed the conversation dim, or Charlie and Mrs Weasley leaving. Tom was still sitting at the table, looking up at her with a measured expression, and she suddenly realised that he was already dressed in Death Eater robes. Her stomach flipped.

“When are you going?” she asked, the words tumbling out her mouth awkwardly.

“I should leave as soon as possible,” he replied, impossibly calm.

“Oh,” Marina said stupidly.

There was a strangely tense pause.

“How will we know if you’re okay?” said Marina loudly, frowning at the floor and wondering if he knew that by 'we' she meant 'I.' “If something happens to you, it’s not exactly like we’ll be able to find out, right?”

“It is unlikely that something with happen,” Tom said smoothly, placing his cup down on the table with a little knocking sound of porcelain against wood. “But communication will not be possible until I return.”

“So we won’t know if something happens to you?” she said rather brusquely.

He hesitated. “No,” he said eventually, “you won’t.” He glanced up at her. “Though nor will I know if something has happened to you.”

Another heavy silence followed his words, and Marina’s thoughts scrambled as she stared at him, wishing viciously that English distinguished between plural and single 'you.'

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.

Surprise flitted across his face. “Why?” he said at once, frowning.

“About last night. I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

Tom stared at her, expression inscrutable.

“I should have – I don’t know, I should have stayed and talked to you,” Marina gestured with her arms, feeling useless. “Now you’re going to be stuck with a bunch of Death Eaters for a week and –”

“You need not worry about me, Marina,” he interrupted quietly, looking down at his cup on the table as he laced his long fingers around it, and she did not, she _did not_ let her eyes linger on his very beautiful hands –

“I have known that this is the most likely course of action for me for some time,” he continued evenly. “It was foolish of me to hope that…” he trailed off, staring at his cup with distant eyes.

An ache passed across Marina like he had stabbed her with a basilisk fang of his own. _She_ had been the one to make them go looking for the Horcrux, to search for Herpo, _she_ had put the whole thing into motion… and he’d gotten his hopes up, only to have them disappointed, and it was her fault, all her fault and she wasn’t even being a proper friend to him now because she was letting her stupid feelings get in the way of acting normal –

“I’m sorry,” she said again, barely above a whisper. It was suddenly very hard to meet his eyes.

Tom hesitated, something setting in his jaw. He abruptly stood. “Don’t apologise,” he said quietly. “I have long known that you have always believed too much in me.”

Marina’s skin felt hot, flummoxed by his words. “I completely disagree,” she breathed. “I’ve always believed in you exactly how much you merit.”

He gave her a look that so strongly reminded her of the sad, patient expression that she’d seen on his face in her nightmare that her breath hitched in her chest.

“Then I should amend,” he said softly, “that you have always believed in too much _for_ me.”

There was a ringing silence as they looked at each other. Marina wondered very recklessly if she would step around the table that separated them and hug him, if he would let her, if it would make him angry, or more sad, or just uncomfortable. If what she really wanted was for him to give her a hug, too.

“I should be going,” Tom said quietly, watching her.

_Ask him to stay._

Marina swallowed thickly and nodded.

_Don’t nod, ask him to say a moment. Go fucking hug him, he needs it and so do you._

“Alright,” she said, voice coming out strange.

_No, it’s not alright, ask him to stay, he’s right there, just –_

“I’ll see you in a week,” Tom said, drawing his wand even as his eyes stayed on hers.

_Oh my god just open your stupid mouth and ask him to –_

“Be careful,” said Marina, unable to look away from his face. “Please.”

Tom nodded, staring right back.

_Come ON you idiot! This is your last chance! You just need to ASK him –_

With a light snapping sound like a bone cracking under foot, Tom was gone.

That, she learned, was the moment when the tears finally came.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“Want to help me de-gnome the garden?” Charlie asked, popping his head through her door.

Marina hastily slid the scribbled calendar she’d drawn on a bit of old parchment under the book in front of her and leapt up from Ginny’s desk. It had two of seven days crossed off and Charlie’s eyes flickered across it before it disappeared beneath the text.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Let’s go.”

Charlie quirked a brow and gave her a very knowing smile, and she sped past him to avoid further scrutiny. It was useless.

“What were you doing?” he asked slyly, following her closely down the stairs.

“Practicing origami,” she deadpanned.

“Oh of course, origami,” Charlie nodded solemnly. She did not miss the side-eye he was giving her.

“Shove off, Charlie,” she muttered, “so I’m worried about him, what of it?”

He turned rather serious. “Marina, if I had to pick one person who could walk into a pit of Death Eaters for a week and emerge completely unscathed, it would be Tom.”

Marina considered this. “True,” she conceded as they left the kitchen and headed around to the garden.

Gnomes were flying through the air before he asked his next question. “Hey Marina,” he said very casually.

She hefted the gnome she’d been spinning around and held a hand above her eyes against the midday sun to watch it go. It landed a good few metres behind Charlie's last one. “Damn. Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

Marina turned to him at once. He was leaning against the wall of the house with his arms folded, squinting at her. “Why?” she asked at once, alarmed.

“Odd reaction, that,” Charlie nodded at her, “to a simple question.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she muttered, looking around for another gnome.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m an excellent liar, thank you very much,” Marina snapped, “what you’re detecting is my body language telling you that I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You have to talk to someone, Marina. You can’t go through all of this alone –”

“I can’t talk about it,” she interrupted brutally, seizing a gnome as it dashed from behind a tree to try to find a new hiding place.

“Why not?”

She didn't reply, she only began to spin the writhing gnome before it could sink its vicious little teeth into her hand.

“In the whole time I’ve known you, the most personally revealing thing I’ve heard you say is that you liked History class at school,” Charlie said, inspecting his nails. “Ironic, isn’t it? That you used to lecture Tom about trusting others?”

Marina aggressively launched the gnome into the air and spun around again, glaring at him. “My problem isn’t that I don’t trust you, Charlie,” she said hotly. “You know I trust you.” 

“Then what is it?” he said at once.

“What if it happens again?” Marina was suddenly shouting. “What if I turn around one day and everything’s just fucking _gone?_ Everyone I know is different, or dead, or just _gone!_ Everything I’ve ever built torn away from under me all over again! The whole world is just _different!_ Magic exists! You live in a fucking children’s fantasy book now! You don’t remember anyone from your life anymore! A war began! The people you knew are dead! You missed out on your friends' lives and you don't know them anymore!”

Charlie stared at her.

“It’s happened twice now, you know,” Marina continued loudly with a strange bravado. “I’m getting to be quite the expert on completely rebuilding my life after waking up in a totally different time.”

“Marina,” he said quietly. “You can’t time travel again, you know that. It'll kill you. This is it, you're here now.”

She just shook her head without really understanding why. “I’ve been here for months now,” she said savagely, looking out at the countryside to avoid him seeing the tears prickling in her eyes, “and I was in 1991 for nearly a year. But I don’t belong in either of them, do I? I shouldn’t even be here.”

“You belong wherever there are people who care about you,” said Charlie firmly, “which means you definitely do belong here.”

The tears welled up even more, and she furiously wiped at her eyes. “The other day I realised that I was born last year,” she said wildly, watching a pair of birds dance after each other in the tree before them. “It was 1996, after all. How weird is that? There could be a little baby version of me out there somewhere right now. Well – maybe.” She scoffed without feeling. “If this is even the same fucking world as the one I was born in.”

“You know," Charlie said pointedly after a pause, pushing off the wall and coming up next to her. "I happen to know someone you might be able to talk to about suddenly waking up in a completely different time to find everything and everyone you know gone and not feeling like you belong anymore."

“Who?” she frowned, looking at him.

Charlie rolled his eyes and threw an arm around her shoulder. “Tom, you absolute troll-brain.”

“Oh,” Marina said blankly. “Yeah. True.” Somehow, the strange similarity of their circumstance had never occured to her before.

Charlie gave her a look of deep fondness and absolute disparagement. “You can be so very stupid sometimes.”

“Yes,” she nodded feverishly, looking back at the birds. “Yes, I can be.”

They watched the gnomes they’d already thrown over the wall stumble across the field for a moment.

“Hey Charlie,” she said, a small smile building on her lips.

“Hmm?”

“I liked English class, too.”

Charlie scoffed and pushed her away, going to hunt for another gnome.

“My favourite colour is a three-way tie between pink, yellow, and gold.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m a size seven shoe –”

“Shut it, fish food.”

“What? You wanted me to open up so here I am opening –”

“You’re more frustrating than a broody Antipodean Opaleye, you know that?”

“You’re a huge part of why I managed to get through the first few weeks here, and I really appreciate how much you’re there for me even though I'm an idiot about it most of the time,” Marina said quickly, staring at the tree resolutely.

Charlie hesitated. She didn’t dare look around.

“Was that so painful?” he asked dryly.

Marina turned to glare at him. “I’ll throw the next gnome at you if you’re not careful, Hiccup.”

“Hiccup?” Charlie frowned.

Marina reminded herself that _How to Train Your Dragon_ had not come out yet, and her jokes wouldn’t be funny for another decade or so. “That would be my cute nickname for you if we were friends,” she smirked as she seized a gnome.

“Why?” he looked mystified, ignoring her jab.

“Hey, if you wait like fifteen years, that joke will make a lot of sense,” she shrugged.

Charlie looked amused. “Alright – though _my_ cute nickname for you makes sense right here, right now.”

“What’s that?”

“Stinky,” he said seriously. “Honestly, you smelled _so bad,_ Marina, I can’t even _describe –”_

Marina kept her promise and threw her gnome right at his head.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  What's this?? Two uploads in two days?? Who am I...  
>  Also, so many ppl are mad that I didn't write the mistaking Tom and Marina as a couple scene so it's going on the growing list of one-shots I'll write once the story is finished, unless I figure out a way to get it into the main plot after all. I promise you it will be done.  
>  And btw, catch that Florence and the Machine reference in the title... :D  
>  Thank you all very much for your support, stay safe :)  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	36. The Whole World Wrong

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA PULLED HERSELF** up onto the fence and sat with a huff, feet dangling as she looked out over the winter morning. It hadn’t snowed, but the frost was so intense that the world looked to have been crystalised, and her breath was coming in thick clouds, her face cold and tingly. She pulled her chin down into the neck of her Weasley jumper and tugged her sleeves over her fingers.

Nine days. Nothing from Tom.

A flurry of birds leapt from the trees in the distance and flit across the sky with loud chirps. Marina stared at the rising sun and the hazy morning sky. Her mind travelled – as it often did – to Greece, to the long nights in the archives and Tom gently shaking her awake when it was time to leave, to that one weird tavern they’d stayed at in Argos that had been run by harpies and had human bones decorating the walls, to Tom’s hand brushing her back in the busy crowd –

Marina pulled in a harsh breath and let it go sharply, distracting herself by watching the cloud of her sigh plume before her. She’d originally thought that his absence would help her stop thinking about him, but she’d been grimly disappointed - if anything, it had only gotten worse. The unknowing was tearing her apart. Charlie was right, of course, Tom was probably completely fine… but the thought that perhaps he had been discovered always haunted her. Not for the first time, Marina’s mind spat out the horrible image of Tom in the cellar of Malfoy Manor looking much like how she had upon her rescue, gaunt and pale, covered in blood and dirt and grime, eyes sunken and skin pallid –

Her shiver ripped through her aggressively, not the least to do with the morning chill.

“Cold?”

She nearly fell off the fence.

“God, Charlie,” Marina grumbled, glaring at him. “You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry,” he grinned, not looking it in the slightest. “Mum’s just left by the way.”

“Early,” she frowned, curious.

Charlie shrugged, pulling himself up onto the fence next to her. “She doesn’t want Ginny waiting around at the station by herself.”

Marina nodded. “And what’s my cover story again?”

Charlie snickered. “You’re my Muggle girlfriend from France who I’ve brought home for the holidays to avoid the Death Eater supporters in Romania.”

She fake retched.

“I know, but we can hardly tell everyone the truth, can we?” Charlie rolled his eyes. “The fact that Fred and George know will be hard enough to manage already.”

“Why’d you even tell them about me in the first place?” she snickered.

“They would never have bought it,” he shrugged. “They’re a lot smarter than people give them credit for.”

“Fair,” she said, remembering the way they'd deduced Tom's identity. She watched a long stream of smoke run lazily across the sky from the Burrow behind them and mingle with the morning fog in the air. “Who else is coming, then? I’ve never had a big family Christmas like this before.”

Charlie heaved a sigh and pretended to think very hard. “Well Fred and George are coming back with mum and Ginny, Bill and Fleur should be here tomorrow morning, Aunt Muriel, Tonks, and her parents are arriving on Christmas Eve, and dad’s brothers are coming the day before.”

“Aren’t people… worried?” Marina asked slowly. “About having such a big party during…”

Charlie gave her an uncharacteristically serious look. “I think we need it,” he said quietly, “now more than ever.” After a second, he broke back into a grin. “But honestly the scariest thing about it will be mum – she’s already losing it trying to sort a dinner for that many people.”

Marina snorted.

“You ready to come inside?” Charlie asked, side-eyeing her.

He’d noticed her daily ritual after all, then. Marina cast one last look out at the calm, cold sky, and nodded.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, pushing off the fence and landing with a satisfying crunch on the frosty grass. “Let’s go.”

“He’ll be fine, Marina,” Charlie said astutely, nudging her shoulder as they walked back across the lawn. “Have a bit of faith in him.”

Marina pursed her lips and said nothing. She didn’t trust herself to talk on it without saying something that would tip Charlie off. Inside they stoked the fire and Marina stole Charlie’s woolliest socks as they had breakfast and laid some ground rules.

“Absolutely no kissing on the lips,” Marina said threateningly, pointing at him.

“You’re off your gourd if you reckon I’ll be trying to kiss you,” Charlie snorted, “not with that fish food mouth of yours.”

She threw a bit of bread at him but he flicked his wand and it turned into a little dandelion, which he picked up and started twirling between his fingers. “But we'll have to be _somewhat_ affectionate.”

“We’re already affectionate,” Marina shrugged.

“Kicking my knees out from behind and spontaneously demonstrating wrist locks is not affection, Marina,” he deadpanned.

“Course it is,” she said breezily, ripping off another chunk of bread and spreading a bit of butter onto it. “That’s the patented Marina brand of affection right there.”

“Right,” Charlie said dryly. “Well lets swap that out for some garden variety hugs for now, maybe people will actually believe you’re my girlfriend and not my high school bully who I inexplicably brought round for Christmas.”

Just before lunch time there was a deafening CRACK from inside the house and Marina looked around sharply from where she’d been hanging out laundry. She sped back to the Burrow and heard raised voices before even opening the door. Something was wrong.

A teenage girl with long, flaming red hair and a spattering of freckles on her tanned face was pacing around the lounge in a frantic energy, yelling at the top of her lungs and not paying the slightest attention to Marina’s appearance.

“ – RIGHT FROM THE BLOODY TRAIN, AND WE COULDN’T DO A THING ABOUT IT! THEY TOOK HER, MUM, SHE COULD BE DEAD!”

Marina glanced to Charlie who was standing with a grave expression by the stairs. Mrs Weasley was in silent tears on the couch, not even scolding her daughter for her language or her tone, and the twins lingered by the fireplace with furrowed brows and mouths in hard, grim lines.

“HOW CAN THEY DO THIS?” bellowed Ginny, angry tears in her own eyes. “HOW CAN THEY JUST TAKE HER? SHE DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING! IT WAS HER DAD WHO PUBLISHED THAT STUFF! SHE’S INNOCENT!”

Marina’s blood ran cold. She suddenly knew exactly who Ginny was talking about, and exactly what had happened. Somehow in the insanity of the last few months, the fact that Luna Lovegood was kidnapped by Death Eaters on her way home for the Christmas holidays had completely vanished from Marina’s mind.

Five solid minutes of shouting later, Ginny stormed upstairs without a second glance at anyone in the room and slammed the door to her room so loudly that the house shook.

“Tom can get her out,” Marina said quietly, looking at the others. “Right? Tom could –”

“You think she’s at Malfoy Manor?” Fred said at once, looking aghast. “Ginny thought they’d put her in Azkaban!”

Marina blinked. She felt sick. “I – I just assumed –”

“I’d be surprised if he can do much,” Charlie said bitterly, “he said they’d changed the security on that place since you disappeared, remember?”

Marina felt even colder. “But surely he could still…” she trailed off, sitting down heavily on the couch next to Mrs Weasley who immediately took her hand.

“We’ll have to wait to ask when he’s back,” said Charlie, looking up the stairs. His sister’s furious sobs were echoing down from behind her closed door. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

He disappeared at once and they listened as he knocked on the Ginny’s door, entering without waiting for a reply and closing it softly behind him. Ginny’s sobs became louder and more heart-broken.

Marina’s grip on Mrs Weasley’s hand tightened. “If I hadn’t needed rescuing, the defences would still be down,” she said hollowly, “and Tom would be able to –”

“Don’t tempt those thoughts, Marina,” Mrs Weasley said sharply, intimidatingly stern despite the tear tracks on her cheeks. “It’s a dark road, and there’s little use to it.”

Marina nodded but her heart wasn’t behind it. Guilt was swelling sickeningly in her stomach, and she was suddenly shivering hard.

“Marina,” Mrs Weasley said in alarm, “what’s –”

But she couldn’t hold back her own tears as she leaned against Mrs Weasley’s shoulder. When Mrs Weasley’s arms came up around her and held her tightly, Marina only cried harder; she wondered what Mrs Weasley would say if she knew that Marina had half-known that Luna would be kidnapped, that she’d forgotten – _forgotten_ about it, like it was still just words on a page and not real things happening to real people around her. Like she couldn’t have said something to try to stop it.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina’s eyes opened slowly, swollen and scratchy from crying the night before. The lounge was dark and quiet, but she could hear birds chirping from outside announcing the arrival of the early hours of the morning. Mrs Weasley had pulled a blanket over her shoulders some time in the night after she’d finally fallen asleep, and Marina pushed it back as she sat up, head pounding.

She drew in a long breath and let it go slowly, looking out the window to the dark, star-speckled sky, stained light blue at the horizon. It couldn’t have been much past five.

A memory struck Marina so hard that she felt it in her chest, faceless family members she couldn’t name with her on a weekend camp with their entire karate school, getting woken up just as early for meditation on the ice-cold, dew-soaked grass. They went every year together, of course they did, how could she have forgotten that? It seemed that she was forgetting a lot important things recently.

Marina wandered outside as if in a daze, staring up at the fading stars. There were lots of memories of mornings, she thought, even though the people she’d shared them with were just out of reach. Like an itch beneath her skin she could not scratch, she thought perhaps there was someone special to her who she’d visited every day before school, they’d had a thousand cups of tea together, talked until the bell rang from school across the street, had to run to make it to class on time. Perhaps someone had taken her to her sports games early on the weekend, she could remember the cold pressing in on her skinny little twelve-year-old legs, that someone cheering from the side lines. Maybe there had been someone who’d driven her to school each morning, and she’d looked out at a fog-drenched countryside and the cold pink sky reflecting on a mirror surface of the bay as she listened to a van rumble beneath her.

Marina began to wonder if perhaps the mornings calmed her because – in the absence of the right people and the right places and the right time – they were the closest thing she had to going home.

She wandered forward, kicking off her shoes and socks and rolling up her sleeves, a weight in her chest that was not wholly unpleasant but just very sad, a nostalgia with its roots cut off. She sat down on the cold grass a little ways from the house and there a long time as she watched the sky grow brighter. Marina had always been terrible at meditation, but in that moment she felt as if her body was dissolving away into the world around her, the cold seeping into her skin, the grass swallowing her up, the birdsong passing straight through her. She felt transparent and small, like the disappearing stars above.

“Marina.”

She looked around at once, surprised but not broken from her strange peacefulness. Tom’s face looked strange in the dawn blue light – though perhaps it was because of the way concern was pulling on his features.

“You’re back,” she said, staring at him. Her voice was hoarse, it didn’t sound like hers anymore.

He nodded, stepping towards her slowly. Marina looked back out at the horizon as he sat next to her.

“Are you alright?” she asked, still hoarse.

“Yes,” said Tom. In her peripheral vision, Marina saw him look at her. “Are you?”

Marina’s lips pressed together. “There’s – there’s a girl in the cellar now, isn’t there?”

Tom drew in a slow, very fatigued breath, letting it out just as slowly as he looked back at the dawn, too. “Yes,” he said again, quietly, “they brought her in yesterday.”

“Can you get her out?”

“I can try.”

Marina nodded silently, not liking the answer. It was the pretty way of saying no. “And is she… alright?”

Tom hesitated, and Marina’s heart fell. “She is receiving significantly better treatment than you did,” he said with what she could only assume was impressive diplomacy.

“That’s a very low bar,” Marina said tiredly.

“You are preoccupied with her,” he replied softly, looking at her. It wasn’t a question.

Marina’s heart clenched, the urge to confess was tearing at her skin from the inside. She finally met his gaze. Tom was sitting next to her with his arms looped around his bent knees and his hands clasped loosely together in front of them. He was wearing the simple black clothes he always wore beneath his Death Eater robes, evidently having removed the horrible things as soon as he’d arrived. His face was very calm as he assessed her.

If she could tell anyone, surely it would be him.

“Tom,” she whispered, her heart hammering. “I – I knew she’d be kidnapped.” She watched anxiously for his reaction, but there was none; he only looked back at her, waiting for her to continue.

Marina swallowed hard, breathing deeply to centre herself. “I… it happened in the books, you know? I… forgot.” Her voice went hollow. She had to retreat from his gaze at the shame of saying the words out loud, finding solace instead in the sunrise before them.

“I could have stopped it,” she continued, barely above whisper. “I keep telling myself that I couldn’t have known for sure it would still happen, you know, because things might be different, but I know I’m just making excuses. If I’d… just remembered… I don’t know, I could have said something and she wouldn’t be…”

“You’re being exceptionally egotistical,” Tom said flatly.

Marina was so surprised that she looked around at him at once, shame forgotten. “Excuse me?”

“To assume responsibility for events outside of your control requires that you vastly overinflate your perception of your own importance, does it not?” Tom asked without a hint of malice.

“I – it wasn’t –”

“Dumbledore told you many times that you should not try to intervene in events any more than you already have,” he continued simply, “this is no different. Even if you had remembered, you should not have said anything.”

Marina stared. “Are you joking?” she said sharply.

Tom looked back at her, perfectly composed. “Marina, if you had stopped her from being taken, they would have taken someone else. There is always someone else.”

“That doesn’t mean I should just give up and roll over,” she said angrily.

“No, but it does mean that you still have knowledge as to how things may play out for her, don't you,” he said, cocking his head.

Marina frowned. It was true, she supposed. “But – but what if things are different? What if things don’t go that way now?”

“Then you can do nothing about it,” he said, unfazed. “You're taking on more compunction for the situation than the people who actually perpetrated it.”

“Can you not say compunction in a real sentence, please,” Marina said loudly, “I know you used to be a fucking book but you don’t have to talk like a human dictionary all the time.”

“Do you really expect to be able to fix the entire world by yourself?” Tom asked, giving her a very level look as he ignored her jab. “Will you punish yourself every time you feel like you’ve failed? I can’t imagine you’ll be spending much, if any of your time particularly happy –”

“Not the _entire world_!” Marina shot back, “Just – just the parts I could actually –”

“By your logic, I will be equally responsible if there is no way to save her without raising the alarm,” he said evenly.

“That’s different,” she frowned.

“Of course,” he replied at once, a decisively sarcastic lilt to his tone as he gave her a emphatic look, “you’re right, that’s different.”

Marina glared at him. She’d said the exact same thing to him several times when she used to tease him for his shitty logic back in 1991, and his repetition of her own words did not pass her by unnoticed.

“It _is_ different,” she said acidly, “if you messed up rescuing her, all hell would break loose, but _I_ just fucking _forgot_ that a _real person_ gets _kidnapped –”_

“Yes, and it’s hardly as if you’ve been doing anything of import that may be occupying your thoughts,” Tom said dryly, “such as breaking into the most dangerous prison in the world to retrieve an object of incredibly potent dark magic, or perhaps hunting down a three-thousand year old sorcerer and coming face to face with a basilisk without so much as a wand –”

“Stop trying to defend me,” Marina snapped.

“It’s not your fault,” Tom said simply.

Marina paused. Something about the way he said it had made her heart ache and her stomach fall.

“It’s not your fault,” he said again, looking at her carefully.

“But I _knew_ ,” she whispered. “I _knew_ and I _forgot.”_

There was a long silence. Marina stared out at the slowly dissipating wispy clouds, stained brilliant orange by the sun still concealed beneath the horizon.

“There is much more outside of your control in the world than inside it, Marina,” Tom said quietly, “you’d do well to avoid endlessly ruminating over that which you cannot change.”

Marina’s lips flickered into a weak smile. “Sort of ironic, isn’t it? You telling me that?”

Tom huffed a small laugh. The sun suddenly peeked up from below the horizon and Marina squinted as a bright beam of morning light hit her eyes.

“I haven’t told the others,” she said, near whisper.

“They would understand,” he replied, looking to her again.

She grimaced. “I – I don’t want them to know.”

There was a beat of silence. Marina felt the overwhelming urge to cry well up again and very much felt like she could do with one of Mrs Weasley’s hugs. Torn between the desire for comfort and fear of overstepping her boundaries, Marina wearily let her head fall on Tom’s shoulder again. Surely it was safe, this gesture – it was ground they had already tread, after all, and surely he knew that she was just upset and needed someone to be there, he wouldn’t think it strange, she’d do the same if it was Charlie after all, so surely it would be okay –

Tom’s hands unclasped from in front of his knees and he straightened his legs out on the grass, propping his arms behind him instead as he leaned back slightly. His hand found its place on the ground just behind her, his arm barely brushing her back as she rested against his shoulder. “I won’t say anything,” he said quietly.

She nodded, letting her eyes fall shut and taking a long breath to calm herself. It was strangely relaxing, being there with him. Everything was wrong, the whole world all around her was wrong all the time, but for a moment it all fell away. For now, there was only the cold morning air, the clear sunlight on her face, the singing birds, and Tom’s arm nearly around her as they watched the misty countryside and the cold, colourful sky.

The sun was fully up in front of them before they heard sounds in the house behind them as Mr Weasley got ready for work and the rest of the house began to wake up.

“We should go inside,” Marina said tiredly, not moving.

Tom looked down at her, and she wondered if he had heard the reluctance in her voice. “Yes we should,” he said, though he too did not move.

Marina decisively ordered herself to lift her head off his shoulder and greatly resented herself the second that she obeyed. She took another long breath, eyes closing as she mentally steeled herself to speak to the others.

The sunlight against her eyelids suddenly darkened and she looked up to see Tom standing before her, hand outstretched. Ignoring the ridiculous way her stomach flipped, Marina took it and he pulled her up – but to her surprise, he did not let go straight away.

“What happened to your lips?” he frowned, looking down at her closely.

Their proximity had allowed him to notice the small cuts and abrasions on her lips, the fact that her hand was still in his as he assessed her apparently escaping his attention.

“I – I bite them when I’m stressed,” Marina said, trying to stop her cheeks from flushing.

“You drew blood,” Tom continued, eyes raising to hers to give her a critical look. 

“I’m very stressed,” she deadpanned, lightly shoving him as an excuse to let go of his hand and put some space between them.

“That’s a terrible habit,” he said dryly.

“We can’t all be perfect like you, Tom,” Marina rolled her eyes as she picked up her discarded shoes and socks. “Forgive me my mortal deficiencies and corporal imperfections.”

“And you mock me for saying compunction,” he smirked as they turned to the Burrow.

“None of those words are even in the same league as compunction,” Marina scoffed. “I don’t even know what compunction _means_ , I had to just rely on context to figure it out –”

“It means guilt after moral wrongdoing, particularly if one’s conscious is –”

“Are you totally sure you’re not still half book?” Marina interrupted, peering at him with theatrical fascination. “Sometimes when you speak, it’s really as if someone’s reading out passages from a very dry text.”

“You are insufferable,” Tom said plainly.

“Thank you,” she smiled.

They had reached the door and she held it open for him, ignoring her stupid brain for noticing how close he was as he passed her.

“Tom!” Mr Weasley said loudly, briefcase swinging as he paused right before throwing Floo powder into the hearth. He was dressed in his tatty, faded work robes and it was obvious that he’d still made a whole-hearted effort to be respectable, cleanshaven, hair neatly combed, and shoes charmed to a reluctant shine. “Didn’t know you were back, my boy!”

“I arrived only this morning, sir,” Tom said politely.

“Oh, none of that,” Mr Weasley said with fatigued joviality. “Are you staying for Christmas? We’d love to have you – I’m sure we could find you a bed somewhere, or you can battle Marina for the good couch –”

“I’d win,” Marina said at once, giving Tom a wry smile at his incredulous side-eye. “Can’t curse me if you can’t hold a wand after I break your hands.”

“Actually, I’m quite accomplished at wandless magic,” he smirked.

“Oh, of course – and what do I have to break to stop you from doing that?” Marina asked, teasingly curious.

Tom looked to be on the brink of rounding on her to retaliate with a decidedly playful gleam in his eye when Mr Weasley interrupted.

“I’d rather you not try find out, Marina,” he said with a chuckle, though he looked somewhat alarmed. “So, what do you say, Tom? Christmas?”

Tom paused, and Marina tried to pretend like she wasn’t waiting on baited breath for his answer. “I may have to return to Malfoy Manor at times,” he said slowly, “but… yes, I believe I will be here.”

“Excellent,” Mr Weasley beamed, before his smile faltered somewhat. “And – and I heard about Luna Lovegood –”

“I’ll do what I can,” Tom said firmly, not looking at Marina.

Mr Weasley nodded slowly. “Good… lucky we have you there to keep an eye on things…” He adjusted his briefcase busily and pushed his travelling cap up off his forehead. “Well, must be going – I drew the short straw for the holiday shifts…”

Marina watched with significant concern as he wearily threw down the Floo powder and disappeared in a flash of green flames.

“That bloody Thicknesse guy,” Marina said bitterly, turning to the kitchen and filling the kettle at the sink before placing it on the stove. “He’s trying to piecemeal murder Mr Weasley through overtime, I swear to god.”

Tom sat down at the table and watched her battle with the stovetop a second before giving a small, slightly condescending sigh. “Here,” he said dismissively, drawing his wand and flicking it at the kettle. It immediately began to whistle.

“You can never go back to Malfoy Manor again,” Marina said seriously, looking around at him, “you’re like, an instant hot drinks machine.”

“Yes, that would be the best application of my talents,” Tom said monotonously, deftly stowing away his wand again as they heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Hey Tom!” Charlie said happily, still in his pyjamas. “When did you get in?”

“Just before dawn,” Tom said with a small smile.

“It’s good you’re back,” Charlie said with great relief, thumping Tom on the shoulder as he took the seat next to him, “maybe Marina will finally stop moping about all the –”

“Charlie,” Marina interrupted sharply, shooting him a look – but it was too late.

“Were you concerned for me?” Tom asked her, looking incredibly amused.

Marina turned back around so he wouldn’t see her blush. “Of course,” she said, somehow wrangling her voice into something nonchalant as she carried on preparing their drinks, “I don’t really understand why people find that surprising… can’t imagine you’d be sitting here if they’d discovered you, we all know what the Death Eaters do to the people they don’t like.”

“Speaking of,” Charlie said in a lower voice, “about Luna –”

“I will try to help her, but the wards were adjusted after Marina’s escape,” Tom said quietly. “Though… there may be other options, I’ll investigate them as soon as I can.”

“Good,” Charlie said grimly, “Ginny’s distraught. She’s been up half the night crying.”

Marina pursed her lips and avoided Tom’s eyes as she handed Charlie his coffee and slid a cup of hot water with a slice of lemon in front of Tom. She sat down opposite them and sipped her own coffee with downturned eyes. The conversation was making her feel incredibly uncomfortable and very guilty, but she was suddenly saved from it by another roar of flames from the fireplace.

Two figures stepped into view who she recognised immediately, despite never having seen them before. The first was a man who looked a bit older than Marina with long red hair in a ponytail, his face very scarred and his expression kind. He had a fang of some sort dangling from an earring and was quite handsome in a quirky, striking sort of way. The other newcomer was difficult to look away from – she was tall and elegant with a radiant beauty that made Marina’s pulse race a bit, her long, silvery blond hair shining in the morning sunlight coming through the windows. Her sparkling blue eyes were locked onto her husband’s face and creased in a smile as the pair approached and set down their luggage.

“Bill!” Charlie beamed, standing at once and pulling his brother into a fierce hug. He did the same with Fleur who returned his friendly affections very gracefully.

Bill turned to Tom and gave him a little nod with a small smile. “Heard you were back,” Bill said with a knowing lilt to his voice.

“It has been too long,” Tom replied smoothly, as composed as ever.

“Ah, you must be Charlie’s girlfriend, _oui?_ ” Fleur said breezily in a thick French accent, seeing Marina, “ _Bill m’a dit que tu viens de la France?”_

 _“Oui,”_ Marina stammered, her French extremely rusty after so long without use. _“Mais – mais je ne suis pas vraiment français, alors – excuse-moi pour faire trop des erreurs…”_

Fleur waved her hand in elegant dismissal. _“Pas de tout,”_ she said with a small smile, _“je ne suis que soulagée qu’il y a quelqu’un avec qui je peux parler ma langue maternelle…”_

 _“Tiens, je peux m’entrainer…”_ Marina grimaced humourously. _“Il y a prés des quatre années depuis j’ai pu parler –”_

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Charlie said, dramatically rolling his eyes, “you’re bilingual, very impressive.” He leaned down quickly to place a kiss on Marina’s cheek and she shoved him away at once, half forgetting about their ruse.

“Jerk,” she said loudly.

Bill snorted a laugh.

Charlie grinned and seized Bill and Fleur’s bags rather impressively without magic. “You guys are kicking me from my room,” he said, bags banged against the wall and the banister as he trudged up the stairs. “I’m getting forced to stay with Fred and George, so you better appreciate my sacrifice…”

Bill and Fleur followed him upstairs to settle in, and Marina shook her head fondly. “Honestly I think Ginny’s making a much more impressive sacrifice,” she said to Tom, sipping her coffee, “she’s bunking with Aunt Muriel, after all.”

Tom did not reply. His eyes were on his drink, his fingertips gently fluttering against its handle in an ever repeating pattern, and his expression oddly contemplative.

“Are you alright?” Marina frowned.

His eyes flashed up to hers as if broken from thought. “Yes,” he said extremely evenly, his expression clearing at once as he lifted his drink again. “My apologies, my thoughts were elsewhere.”

Marina quirked a brow. It was an incredibly formal response which, if she knew Tom, usually meant that something else was going on. “Tom, what’s –”

“I should return to the Manor,” he said abruptly, standing and setting down his cup without glancing her way. “I believe I will be most of use there, at this time.”

“You’re going back _now_?” Marina said, alarmed.

“Not for as long,” he said, retrieving his wand again. Death Eater robes draped across his form at once and when he looked back at Marina, she was slightly struck by his appearance. He stood tall and regal, his wand in hand and his eyes very intense, his unavoidably handsome image turned intimidating by the harsh black of the all-too familiar robes that cut vividly against his complexion and made his hair seem blacker. “I will be back as soon as I have news on Lovegood.”

“When will that be?” she frowned, unable to stop staring at him.

“This afternoon at the latest.”

“Promise?” Marina added quickly, not caring how childish it sounded.

His lips quirked slightly at the corners, but the smile was gone not a second later. “I promise,” he said quietly.

He vanished with a _snap_ , and Marina sat back in her chair with a huff feeling strangely empty. The house was only going to get more and more chaotic as guests continued to arrive and Christmas drew nearer, and she could not help but hope that she’d have another chance to talk to Tom like they had that morning. Somehow, despite his candid and frankly blunt conduct, she felt better after talking to him than anyone else.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Such a long chapter but omg I could not cut it at any point. And hey... I did put slowburn in the tags...  
>  Thank you for your comments!! You guys honestly are the greatest, I feel so lucky to have you :)  
>  OH and if you'd like a translation of Marina and Fleur's convo and can't be fucked with google translate, Fleur just asked if Marina was from France, Marina was like uhhhh yeah but I'm not proper French so my French is gonna suck. Fleur told her not to worry and she was just glad to be able to speak her native tongue, and Marina was like well hey now I get to actually practice since it's been nearly four years since she last could.  
>  There ya go lazy bones ;)   
>  Anyway, hope you are doing good and see you at the next chapter!!!  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	37. An Understandable Misconception

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **THE RAIN STARTED** not an hour after Tom disappeared, and did not let up for the whole afternoon. It pelted against the house and streamed down the windows as a howling wind stirred thick grey clouds in the sky outside, rather unluckily trapping everyone inside the chaos that was reigning over the Burrow.

Fred and George had made it their personal mission to cheer up Ginny, and Mrs Weasley’s voice shook the house as she furiously berated them for releasing a large collection of thunderous firecrackers in the stairway, only to immediately throw one of their ‘Weather in a Bottle’ snow storms into Ginny’s room when she had opened the door to investigate the commotion. In their defence, it did seem to have cheered Ginny up, and she actually came down to join them for lunch – though this may have been because her room was covered in six inches of snow and she was no longer able to hide there. Nevertheless, Ginny perked up considerably when Fred transfigured his peas into a small army of marching crabs that scuttled across the table and made Fleur shriek loudly.

Marina just tried to stay out of Mrs Weasley’s way as she tore through the house on a veritable warpath preparing the Burrow for even more guests, supervising Fred and George’s progress melting out Ginny’s room, and assigning chores to anyone caught in her line of sights. She’d delegated Marina the task of setting up Percy’s room, handing her the linen with tight lips and a tension to her eyes. The considerable layer of dust across the room made Marina think that no one had gone in there for some time.

Her relief when Tom reappeared in the lounge that afternoon was insurmountable.

“Oh thank fuck,” Marina said heavily, immediately shoving the basket of laundry she was holding into his arms and seizing the second from the ground beside her. “Quick, do something with this before Mrs Weasley sees you and makes you help Charlie clean the scullery – I’ve never seen him so miserable in my life –”

She sat heavily on the couch with the laundry next to her and started folding it with absolute precision. A loud argument could be heard from the kitchen around the corner as Mrs Weasley’s tyranny exploded onto George, who had apparently committed the cardinal sin of setting down his cup and leaving a water ring on the kitchen table that she’d just scrubbed down.

“What is going on?” Tom asked slowly, raising an eyebrow at Marina.

Fred ducked his head down the stairs to check on the fate of his brother with a comically grim expression on his face.

“There’s officially nine people in this house again” Fred said blithely, “mum’s going to murder someone by Christmas, you can count on that.”

“You reckon it’ll take that long?” Ginny snorted, appearing behind him. “An hour ago she yelled at Charlie for five minutes straight because he breathed on the china cabinet and it fogged up the glass.”

Tom placed the laundry that Marina had forced into his arms down on the coffee table, and Ginny seemed to suddenly notice him. Her expression became rather affronted and she stood straight up.

“Oh,” she said blandly, “hi, Tom. I didn’t know you were already here.”

“I just arrived,” Tom said smoothly, deftly stowing away his wand.

“Right,” Ginny said, before looking away, “well, tread carefully why don’t you.” She waved an arm towards the kitchen and Mrs Weasley’s wrath, and then turned on her heel and disappearing past Fred who was now sporting an extremely broad smirk as he followed her upstairs.

“Does she know you’ve been at the Manor?” Marina muttered to Tom quietly.

“No,” he said, frowning. “No, most people think that I have been in hiding with my uncle since the wedding –”

“Did you learn anything?” Marina pressed at once, staring up at him. “About Luna?”

Tom gave her an even look. “I’m sorry, Marina,” he said quietly.

“But you got _me_ out,” she said hollowly, shaking her head. “Can’t you –”

“I will do my best to make sure that she is as safe as she can be, given the circumstances,” Tom said tiredly, sitting on the couch and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his eyes.

Marina suddenly felt very bad for pressuring him – he looked exhausted. “Alright,” she said slowly, “thanks.”

He nodded, not looking up. Fatigue was set into every line of his body, and Marina’s hand suddenly ached like if she didn’t reach out to touch him, it would revolt against her conscious mind and do it of its own accord. She was saved from having to agonise over the decision by Bill and Fleur coming down the stairs, and Mrs Weasley rounded the corner to the lounge with a very stressed look on her face.

“Bill, can you help Charlie charm the ceiling in the bathroom again?” Mrs Weasley said busily, flicking her wand at the fireplace which immediately burst into flames. “It’s leaking all over the place – and Fleur, come help me with lunch if you could – oh, Tom,” she gave him weary smile as she noticed him, approaching him at once and placing her palm fondly against Tom’s cheek. “Good to have you back so soon, dear.”

Marina had to quickly look back down at the laundry to hide her smile, unable to hold it back.

“Marina – Percy’s room –?”

“All set up,” she nodded, schooling her features before looking up at Mrs Weasley, “and I put the china for Aunt Muriel’s tea on the desk in Ginny’s room.”

“Right piece of work, old Muriel,” said Charlie, tearing a bite from a bread roll as he rounded the corner. “Has to have everything _just right –”_

“You watch yourself, young man,” Mrs Weasley said sternly, pointing at him, “I have enough to worry about with Fred and George threatening to test out their new colour-changing shampoo on her without your cheek –”

“I’ll behave myself,” Charlie grinned, holding up a hand in surrender as he collapsed onto the couch next to Marina and threw an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll be the very picture of good manners, mum, I swear.”

Marina snorted. “Good of you to branch out and try new things.”

“You’re such a bully,” Charlie accused theatrically.

“Oh? And what’s your nickname for me again?”

“Oh you mean stinky?” he asked casually, taking another bite of the roll.

Marina punched his arm and he poked her hard in the ribs back, making her shriek.

“Merlin, aren’t you two romantic?” Bill said, quirking a brow.

Marina and Charlie both froze, suddenly very aware that they were acting much more like siblings than partners.

“I love her really,” Charlie said at once, putting his arm around her shoulders again.

Marina scoffed a laugh at his rather transparent recovery, but it appeared to have worked because Bill gave them a very wry smile and shook his head fondly.

“The fire’s getting low,” said Mrs Weasley, frowning at it. “Bill – could you go fetch some more wood?”

“I’ll get it,” Tom said suddenly, standing up and heading for the door at once. He had disappeared out into the rain before anyone could protest.

“Well,” said Fleur, waving her hand gracefully. “Eet ees good zat you ‘ave so many willing ‘elpers, Molly.”

“Tom’s a good lad,” Bill nodded, turning to Charlie. “Now would you kindly stop lazing around and help me with this bathroom ceiling?”

“I just sat down,” Charlie said, looking scandalised.

“Got a case of the ole single-use legs, do you?” Marina asked humorously, nudging his ribs.

With a deeply forlorn look and a very hard done by sigh, Charlie heaved himself off the couch to go re-charm the bathroom ceiling, and Tom was still not back by the time they were done.

“Is he _still_ outside?” Charlie frowned, glancing at the empty log-holder by the fireplace.

Mrs Weasley leaned around the corner with a huge bowl filled with Christmas cake mix floating above her wand that was slowly rotating as she added streams of dried fruit.

“Marina – can you go check on him?” she called, frowning in concern. “He’s certainly taking his time…”

Marina nodded and walked over to the kitchen door, wrenching it open only to immediately freeze in place. Tom was stood right on the other side, clearly having just been about to open it himself, a stack of freshly cut logs in his arms. He was absolutely soaked from the rain, his hair dripping wet, and the wave that usually fell across his face half plastered to his forehead. Drops of water ran off his dark curls and down his face as he looked at her and she watched them as if hypnotised, unable to look away. Marina’s face felt burning hot.

_I am so fucked._

After a second, Tom slowly arched a brow. “Are you going to let me in?” he asked, slightly pointedly.

Marina jolted and stepped to the side at once, holding the door for him. Tom gave her a rather amused look as he dipped his head under the doorframe and stepped inside, setting the wood down next to the fireplace and withdrawing his wand. As he waved it over the logs, steam obediently began to erupt from them – but Marina’s attention had been caught by something extremely worrying behind him.

Charlie was looking between her and Tom with something between dawning realisation and utter glee on his face. Marina gave him as threatening a look as she could manage without drawing Tom’s attention and shook her head slowly. Charlie looked wholly unperturbed and slowly sat down in an armchair with a shit-eating grin on his face that Marina knew in her very bones meant trouble.

She wheeled around and beelined for Fleur and Mrs Weasley, seizing a chopping board and setting it hard down on the table before aggressively attacking the potatoes for lunch. Marina resolutely ignored Charlie’s annoying grin for the rest of the day, and rather foolishly wondered if she’d gotten off relatively scot-free before everything came crashing down right after Mr Weasley’s brothers arrived the following afternoon.

Julian and Jacob Weasley were both tall, red-haired, and so strikingly similar to each other that Marina had thought them twins themselves at first. They had dispositions much like Mr Weasley’s – kind, loud, and eager to find even the smallest good to smile about, and they chatted amicably with Bill and Fleur as they were led upstairs to find beds.

“Charlie!” Mrs Weasley called distractedly as her wand danced furiously, simultaneously folding white marzipan over itself again and again, and cutting out little pastry stars for the mince pies. “Can you help Tom set up in the lounge?”

Marina’s head whipped around from where she’d been kneading pastry for the sausage rolls. She was herself sleeping in the lounge, still giving Ginny some space and solitude after what had happened with Luna and before Aunt Muriel descended upon her sanctuary. “I thought Tom was in Percy’s room,” she said quickly.

“He was but Julian and Jacob are taking the beds in there now – you don’t mind being with Tom, do you?”

_Yes._

“No,” Marina said bluntly, staring back at the dough. “Course not.”

Her head buzzed. Of course Mrs Weasley hadn’t thought twice about putting her with Tom, they’d been travelling together for weeks and known each other – at least on Tom’s part – for years. But the thought of sleeping in the same room as him was making her feel extremely nervous, and she pursed her lips. She could not help but try…

“You know, the others might find it strange if Charlie’s not the one staying with me in the lounge,” Marina said casually, resuming folding the dough with what she hoped was nonchalance. “Maybe he should swap with Tom.”

“I’d rather keep Charlie with Fred and George, if you don’t mind dear,” Mrs Weasley frowned, directing a line of pastry stars over to a floured tray, “I overheard them this morning whispering that they were going to try to get Tom with their Magical Moustache Miracle Cream.” Mrs Weasley gave her a tight look of disparagement, heaving a sigh as she shook her head. “That boy’s going through enough right now, I don’t need the twins swapping out his shoes with Sticky Trainers or turning his eyebrows green in his sleep again…”

Marina chewed her lip furiously. “Right,” she said in a slightly strangled tone, as she punched the dough over itself.

That night, Marina flung herself onto the couch and resolved to fall asleep as quickly as possible. She glanced over at Tom – who was at that moment reading from the magical encyclopaedia whilst sitting on the other couch, one of his legs crossed very casually over the other.

“What are you reading about?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

He didn’t look up. “Ignatia Wildsmith.”

“Who’s that?” Marina frowned.

“She invented Floo powder,” Tom said evenly. “Her life was rather interesting actually… she was splinched seventeen times by pure chance, which appears to have been her impetus for inventing an alternative to Apparation.”

“Geez, that’s a yikes and a half,” Marina grimaced.

“Indeed,” he said humorously, glancing at her.

There was a very ringing silence.

“Well,” Marina said loudly, wrenching her gaze off him and pulling the thick homemade quilt up to her chin. "Goodnight.” She resolutely closed her eyes and flung an arm across her face as nonchalantly as she could manage.

“Goodnight,” Tom said smoothly.

Marina pretended to be asleep for a long time before she actually fell unconscious, the periodic sound of Tom gently turning pages eventually lulling her into slumber.

_It was always going to be like this…_

_You can’t change it…_

_You know it has to be done…_

_I don’t want to be alone –_

Marina silently awoke with a jolt, her face wet with tears. She stared at the dark, low ceiling, forcing herself to take hushed, shaking breaths to calm her thudding heart. She could almost still feel the cold ink spreading across her fingers.

She wiped her face on her shirt and glanced over at the other couch. Tom’s form stretched out there was only just visible in the dark, lying there without a blanket and the book open on his chest like he’d fallen asleep reading it. Marina could hear his slow, even breathing, could faintly see the book gently rising and falling, his fingers brushing the floor next to him where his arm had slipped off the couch.

An ache passed through her and she looked away. It was a cold night – should she go find him a blanket? Was that weird? Was it only maybe weird because she was being weird, rather than it being inherently weird to an outside perspective?

Before she had to make a decision, Tom took a very sharp breath and sat straight up, the book falling into his lap. Marina froze, staring at him. It was too dark to see his expression but he was breathing hard through his nose, though he was very obviously trying to be quiet. His hands came up and pressed to his forehead, and he leaned forward over his bent knees. Marina’s mind raced – should she ask him if he was okay? Would he be annoyed that she’d witnessed this moment?

Tom fell back onto the couch and let his hands fall to his sides with a long, very weary exhale. Marina made up her mind.

“Tom?”

His head snapped around. Marina swallowed hard, biting her lip with uncertainly and wishing she could see his expression.

“Are you alright?” she continued cautiously.

There was a brief pause, and then –

“From what I understand, you’re no stranger to nightmares,” said Tom, his voice slightly husky from sleep.

“No,” she said with a small, grim sigh. “I’m not.”

A long silence fell but Marina didn’t prompt him – she had the distinct impression that he would elaborate in his own time.

“I have been having nightmares about my death for some time,” Tom said quietly, “for as nearly as long as I can remember. But as of late, things have been somewhat different.” His voice was so soft that Marina felt like shivering. “I have learned that there are things more terrible than my own death.”

He let out another long exhale, sounding very exhausted. Through the dark she saw his hand came up to his forehead again.

“That night at the Manor,” he said softly, “when I saw you again…”

Marina’s heart clenched painfully and her stomach swooped like she'd missed a stair.

“I knew that the line I had to walk lay between my death and yours,” Tom said, barely above whisper, “that a single misstep or the smallest detail misspoken would kill one or both of us. I feared that you would not realise the extent of the situation we were in, that you would say something, or reveal something to him, and that he would –”

Tom broke off, his hand falling back onto the couch with a light thud. “I believe my mind must have come up with every possibility for how that night could have gone,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Marina said quietly.

Tom hesitated a second and then gave a soft breath of a laugh. “Are you apologising for having been abducted? Or for my having nightmares?”

“Both,” she muttered.

“I fail to see how either are your fault,” said Tom with a wry lilt to his words.

“I’m sorry that they happened at all,” she frowned. “I’m sorry that all of this ever happened.”

Tom was quiet, and the silence went on for so long that Marina wondered if perhaps he had gone back to sleep, when –

“Why do you cry in your sleep?”

A hot pulse of alarm passed through her as she looked over at him, even though he was still indistinguishable in the dark. “How do you know about that?” she asked quickly.

“I noticed while we were in Greece.”

“We didn’t share a room,” Marina said at once.

“I could tell by your eyes in the morning,” Tom replied evenly. “And sometimes I could hear you.”

Embarrassment coursed through her. “Oh,” she said flatly.

Much like herself only moments before, Tom didn’t push her; he only waited while she desperately tried to gather her spinning thoughts.

“It started around the same time,” she mumbled, waving her hand above her. “After Malfoy Manor. I dream that I’m in a room somewhere and – and you’re there.”

Tom’s silence gave her time to grit her teeth, trying to push down the weird shakiness that had erupted in her chest.

“You talk to me,” she managed to say, “tell me I can’t do anything to – to change things. And then you –” Her throat closed up and Marina choked a bit. She frowned hard, forcing a breath. “You make me kill you,” she finished quietly.

There was a long pause after her words. Marina fixed her eyes on the ceiling above.

“I intend to keep my promise to try to find another way,” Tom said quietly, “but you must know that if I can’t, you would never have to be the one to –”

“I know,” she interrupted, screwing her eyes shut tightly and pushing her fingers back into her hair. “I know, it’s just…” she trailed off, unable to express the tight ball of feelings in her chest.

“I’m sorry, Marina.”

Marina cracked her eyes open, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see her little smile in the darkness. “Are you apologising for how Horcrux magic works? Or for my having nightmares? Because I don’t see how either are your fault,” she said with a weak attempt at teasing him.

He laughed again, barely more than a breath. “All of it,” he said softly. “I’m sorry that you were ever pulled into all of this in the first place.”

Marina frowned. “It’s okay,” she said awkwardly, “it hasn’t been without its perks.”

“Such as?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Getting to hang out in Diagon Alley was cool,” Marina smirked, “seeing Hogwarts for real, reading all those wizarding books, being around actual magic, going to Greece for the first time, visiting a famous archaeological site – even all the time travel was pretty awesome, minus the bleeding and the reason we were there and us nearly dying.”

“Minus that, yes,” Tom said dryly.

“And all that’s not even taking into account all the people I’ve got to meet,” Marina grinned, ignoring his tone. “So yeah, it definitely has had its perks.”

“Good,” he said, strangely reserved. “Sometimes I wonder if..."

"Yes?" Marina asked curiously when he trailed off.

"If you resent me," said Tom quietly. "A lot of hardship has fallen your way throughout the course of knowing me.”

“Of course I don’t resent you,” Marina snorted. “I’m like, completely incapable of holding a grudge.”

“Oh?" he asked humorously, "even against Dumbledore?”

Marina scoffed. “You’re so right,” she drawled, “I’ll make a special exception just for him.”

“How very generous of you,” he smirked.

“But seriously,” said Marina, frowning. “I don’t resent you. I – I could never resent you.”

Horribly, Tom did not reply to this, and Marina felt her cheeks flush in the ensuing silence.

“Anyway,” she mumbled, “we should get to sleep – Aunt Muriel arrives tomorrow and if half of what Charlie’s said about her is true, we’ll need all the rest we can get.”

“Alright,” Tom said evenly.

“Sleep well,” she said ironically, trying to regain the lightness of their conversation.

He breathed a little laugh again, and Marina turned away as she pulled the quilt up over her head, unable to hold back her smile.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina awoke at the crack of dawn to thunderous rain and sat up at once, watching it rage against the windows. She glanced over and noticed with surprise that Tom was already gone – only to hear footsteps from in front of her and he appeared from the kitchen.

She stared. Tom’s hair was sleep-mussed and tousled, and he was wearing a very comfortable looking grey t-shirt whose collar had fallen slightly off to the side, revealing an entirely distracting amount of his collarbone. Marina supposed he must have borrowed the sweatpants from Bill, the only Weasley child anywhere near his height, and he was holding a mug in his hands that he took a slow sip from as he leaned his shoulder against the wall dividing the lounge and the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said smoothly.

_I am… so fucked…_

“Good morning,” Marina managed to get out, still staring at him. The dull, blue-grey light of the stormy morning made his skin look eerily smooth and had turned his eyes the same deep black as his hair.

“Is that coffee?” Marina said stupidly, gesturing at his cup.

“It is,” he said conversationally, lifting it to his lips again.

“How do you have your coffee?” she grinned, extremely grateful for the distraction, “I bet you’re one of those people who don’t take any milk or sugar and then act really pretentiously superior because of it –”

“Actually I take both,” he smirked. “Growing up in wartime London left me with something of a taste for decadence, it seems.”

Marina stood and stretched, and then pulled the quilt over her shoulders like a massive, comically oversized scarf. “I need coffee, too,” she said blearily, shuffling past him.

Tom watched her over the rim of his mug with some amusement. “If you ask nicely, I’ll charm you some.”

She rounded on him at once. “Please,” she said quickly, “please please please please please please –”

Tom smirked and pulled his wand from the pocket of the sweatpants, waving it at the bench.

Things immediately sprang into action, a burnished copper kettle tipping steaming coffee into a waiting cup, frothy milk pouring from a silver jug, and sugar from a porcelain bowl spooning itself in afterwards.

“God you’re the best,” Marina breathed, seizing the mug gratefully. “Your capability to instantly make me hot drinks outstrips any and all criticisms I’ve ever had about wizards.”

“My my, if only I’d known how easy it was to sway your opinion six years ago,” Tom deadpanned. “We could have saved ourselves a great deal of fighting.”

“No, you needed those fights,” Marina smirked, “it was good to have you think critically about all your weird, shitty prejudices, after all.”

Tom gave her a long look, and she was struck again by how unfairly beautiful he was before Mr Weasley came bustling down the stairs to leave for work and gave her an excuse to flee.

Aunt Muriel arrived just before lunch and spent the first hour of her stay criticising nearly everything she set her eyes upon, from the layout of the lounge to Ginny’s ponytail.

“You look positively common, Ginervra,” Muriel had droned when Ginny had rolled her eyes. “A young lady should wear her hair properly styled, not pulled back so carelessly.”

Her piercing eyes lingered pointedly on Marina whose own hair was in a nearly identical style to Ginny’s except very messily braided, forcing her to turn away to hide her smirk. Muriel was everything Charlie had promised and more.

The mayhem of the increasingly crowded Burrow was only amplified as the storm outside continued to worsen. Marina barely had a moment of silence the entire day as she weathered Aunt Muriel’s snappish criticisms, Mrs Weasley’s harrowed flurry of preparations, Fleur and Ginny’s brewing tensions, and Fred and George’s truly perfectly timed releases of a variety of pranks that included (but were by no means limited to) jinxing the fox-scarf around Muriel’s shoulders to bark loudly for forty-five minutes, transfiguring Julian’s shoe-laces into extremely pungent seaweed, and unleashing an explosion of fireworks that sent sparkling silver snakes racing around the living room hissing and whistling loudly.

By the time Tonks and her parents arrived late that evening, Marina was utterly exhausted, greeting them tiredly but as enthusiastically as she could. Tonks – pink-haired, heavily pregnant, and cheekily smirking – gave her a wink that had made Marina like her at once. Ginny looked extraordinarily relieved to see Tonks, pulling her into a long hug the second she stepped out of the fireplace and immediately leading her upstairs to talk in her room.

Marina was asleep before her head hit the pillow that evening. She had managed to spend the entire day avoiding Charlie’s pointedly knowing looks when she and Tom were in the same room and had thanked the universe for not giving him a chance to confront her about it in the chaos of the day – but her luck, it seemed, had finally run out.

Marina was gently roused from sleep, slowly becoming aware that someone was pulling the quilt over her shoulders. Right before she opened her eyes, she heard something that made her hesitate.

“Tom,” Charlie said from somewhere on the other side of the lounge.

The hands disappeared from the quilt at once and Marina forced herself to stay completely still.

“What’s up with you and Marina, then?” Charlie asked, sounding like he had a sly smile on his face.

 _I’m going to fucking kill him_ , Marina thought brutally.

“What do you mean?” came Tom’s voice from right next to her, smooth and composed.

“She was certainly very worried about you when you were gone,” Charlie continued knowingly, making Marina decide that his death would be long and painful.

“That does not surprise me,” Tom said evenly, “Marina has a terrible habit of worrying more about others than she does herself.”

“You got that right,” Charlie snickered, “but I reckon it might be more than that. Ginny gave me this today – found it under a book on her desk –”

There was the rustling of paper, and Marina’s heart dropped straight through the couch, down through the floor, and settled somewhere in the bottom of the cellar.

“What is this?” Tom asked quietly.

“She was counting down the days, mate,” said Charlie.

A long silence passed.

“Marina and I are friends,” Tom said calmly.

There was a slight pause, and then –

“Just friends?” Charlie asked softly.

Tom was silent. Marina, long having decided to brutally murder Charlie, was now considering adding several Dante-esque stages of torture beforehand.

“I thought maybe while you guys were in Greece,” Charlie continued carefully, “maybe –”

“No,” Tom said flatly.

Charlie hesitated. “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Positive,” Tom said smoothly, “I would never make an advance on her, and should she make one herself, I would reject it.”

Marina felt like she’d been punched in the chest.

“Oh,” Charlie said simply, sounding rather taken aback. “Well – sorry for putting you on the spot then.”

“Not at all,” said Tom calmly. “An understandable misconception.”

“Well,” Charlie slapped his knees as he stood up. “I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow, Tom.”

“Goodnight, Charlie.”

Marina listened to Charlie’s footsteps ascend the stairs, frozen. Only after the lights had gone dark and Marina was utterly sure that Tom was asleep across from her did she open her eyes, brain furiously whirring.

_'I would never make an advance on her, and should she make one herself, I would reject it.'_

Marina exhaled, pulling her pillow out from under her head and pressing it against her face.

“Idiot,” she mumbled quietly, her heatless whisper muffled by the pillow. “What did you expect?”

She screwed up her eyes tightly, trying to pretend like it wasn’t to stop herself from crying.

“Don’t be pathetic,” she muttered into the pillow, not liking how pathetic it sounded.

But her brain was working against her, speed firing image after image of Tom at her like it was trying to taunt her.

_Tom looking around at her with his sleeves rolled up and the axe in his hand, sweat on his brow from the exertion of chopping the wood –_

_Tom sitting in the armchair just across from her the night he’d returned, regal and calm, the firelight flickering in his dark eyes, his face pensive and serious –_

_Tom holding his hand out to her to Apparate to Azkaban –_

_Tom’s warm fingers closing around hers as he placed the phoenix flint in her hand –_

_Tom slowly opening his eyes and wearily smiling at her in Ekrizdis’ chambers after she’d taken the mask from him –_

_Tom on the couch next to her in the hotel, sleepily rubbing his eye in that way that had made her heart clench –_

It went on and on, an endless stream of flashes of him, all through Argos, through Corinth and Athens, through their nights in the archives, their trips through Mycenae, their stay in Heraklion.

_Tom’s arms around her in the cave – Tom asleep against her, warm and comfortable, his head leaning on hers – Tom’s arm brushing her back as she rested on his shoulder watching the sunrise – Tom's long fingers fluttering on the handle of his mug – Tom with rain dripping off his curls and down his face – Tom in the morning light with messy hair and his dark eyes looking at her over the rim of his mug –_

_'An understandable misconception.'_

“I am so fucked,” Marina whispered to the pillow.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Listen... the slower the burn the deeper the reward, right???  
>  I've already written the next chapter, so we have a double whammy coming asap ;)  
>  Your comments sustain me, thank you so much :D if you tell me your fave parts of the chapter I know what to emphasise when I write the next one ;)   
>  Also I feel bad that other characters are taking something of a back seat bc I am gunning it on the plot, I wanted to play around writing more with Ginny and Tonks but hey, that's life, can't have everything.  
>  Hope you are all well ❤️  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	38. Utterly Irreversible

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MARINA CORNERED CHARLIE** the next morning as he was coming out of the bathroom, hair wet and steam billowing from the door behind him.

“You asshole,” Marina snarled, propping her arm on the wall to stop him from passing. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, looking very unintimidated.

 _“Hey Tom, what’s up with you and Marina?”_ she quoted angrily.

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “You were awake?” he asked, gobsmacked.

“Yes,” she hissed. “What the hell, man?”

“I saw how you were looking at him,” Charlie shrugged as he leaned on the wall casually, “and he’s always looking at you too, so I thought –”

“You are aware we’re in the middle of a war?” Marina whispered furiously.

“Yeah, so?” Charlie said, frowning. “Merlin, if there’s ever a time for a bit of happiness –”

“You showed him my calendar?” Marina breathed, eyes narrowing.

Charlie had the decency to look a bit ashamed. “Look, I thought he liked you, so –”

“I’ll be lucky if he ever talks to me again,” Marina groaned despondently as she too leaned heavily against the hallway. “ _Shit_ , Charlie,” she pressed her hands against her face, mortified. “How could you think that he sees me that way?”

Charlie paused. “Do you see him that way?”

“Does it matter now?” Marina deadpanned.

“Yes,” he said at once.

Marina pursed her lips, heels of her palms pressing hard against her eyes.

“You do!” Charlie said triumphantly.

“Shut it,” Marina grit out, glaring at him. “It’s not my fault! All of a sudden he’s all –” she flailed her hands angrily “– _collected_ and _funny_ and _confident_ and _good to talk to_ and _emotionally mature.”_ She exhaled furiously. “ _And_ it doesn’t help that he’s freaking off-the-wall gorgeous,” she added bitterly.

Charlie snorted, and Marina glared at him again.

“What?” he grinned. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“Yeah well,” she scowled, “he gave me my answer, didn’t he?”

Charlie sobered. “Right,” he said, frowning. “Sorry, mate.”

“It’s fine,” she said flatly, staring at the ceiling. “You’re just going to be on my shit list for about ten years.”

“Have a heart, Marina,” Charlie drawled. “If he liked you too, you would have both just danced around each other for the rest of time – you can hardly blame me for trying to take the initiative.”

Annoyingly, he was right. “Whatever,” she grimaced. “God, I have to _talk_ to him, Charlie!”

“You’ll be alright,” he said sympathetically, pushing her shoulder lightly. “He doesn’t know you heard, after all. Just act normal and it’ll be fine.”

Marina nodded slowly. That was true, at least. “Act normal,” she repeated, sighing heavily. “Right. I can do that. I’ll just act like how I do with you.”

“There ya go,” said Charlie, ruffling her hair. “And hey – I’m sorry,” he said ruefully. “I honestly didn’t expect it to go like that.”

“It’s fine,” Marina rolled her eyes. “Just – don’t say anything else to him, alright?”

“Alright,” he said softly, smiling at her.

At that moment George rounded the corner with a towel over his shoulder and caught sight of them.

“If it isn’t the love birds,” he smirked, winking at them. “Romance of the century over here, right guys?”

Marina sighed loudly and left without responding, in desperate need of a coffee and five minutes of silence by herself – though unfortunately only one of those was at all feasible. Mr Weasley had received an owl letting him know that the Ministry had swapped his shift from Christmas Eve to Christmas Day at the last second, and the kitchen was in absolute turmoil as Mrs Weasley commanded her forces around at top speed. They had decided to have the big dinner on Christmas Eve instead, resulting in a very stressed out Mrs Weasley and an extremely noisy morning in the Burrow.

The only person who seemed remotely happy about the change of plans was Fleur, who chattered so extensively about having a traditional French-style Christmas Eve dinner that Marina thought Ginny looked like she might flip a table if she heard the phrase _“ahh eet ees nice to ‘ave a proper Christmas zis year!”_ one more time.

By midday, Marina hadn’t had to string together more than a few full sentences to Tom, which she was immensely glad about since her plan to ‘act normally’ was rather compromised by the fact that she had been struggling to look him in the eye for more than a second at a time. Marina knew she was being stupid, but she also knew that it would take some time for her heart to catch up with her head.

Luckily, she had something of an excellent plan to push herself back towards normalcy. Marina took a little breath and mentally steeled herself. _Alright. Act normally. As if it were Charlie._

She peeked down the stairs into the lounge where Tom, Ginny, Tonks, and the twins were charming lights and decorations onto a broad-branched, handsome Christmas tree in the corner. By the sounds of it, Fred and George had jinxed the angel at the top of it to shout out a variety of colourful vulgarities and were being loudly berated by their mother as Ginny and Tonks snorted with laughter. It only took a second to catch Tom’s eye. She grinned and waved him over conspiratorially. Tom arched a brow, but Marina only ducked back up the stairs and waited in the little alcove that led to Ginny’s room with her hands behind her back.

Tom appeared a moment later.

“Yes?” he asked very dryly, looking amused.

“I have a confession,” Marina smiled broadly, throwing herself into nonchalance with a little too much gusto. “I broke the rules.”

“Oh?” Tom folded his arms and leaned against the wall in a very annoyingly attractive way.

_Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare –_

“Yeah,” she said gaudily, pulling the little present from behind her. “Don’t tell Mrs Weasley, I think she’d flay me alive.”

Tom stared at the gift in her hands. She’d had to wrap it in newspaper and tie with cooking string, but it was very tidily done and Marina thought it had a sort of 2012 Pinterest chic about it – not that Tom would appreciate this.

“Goodness,” he deadpanned, eyes meeting hers. “You certainly like to live dangerously, don’t you?”

“Do you want it or not, smartass?” she smirked, holding it out to him a bit more.

Tom took it and then gave her a somewhat sarcastic look. “Are you going to make me wait for the _actual day_ , or am I allowed to open it now?” he asked, smiling.

“You can do what you like,” she rolled her eyes, leaning back against the wall opposite and trying to ignore her slightly racing pulse.

Tom’s smile only grew more wry and he gently slid his fingers beneath the string, pulling it from the gift. The paper followed, and he frowned. In his hands was a long, unmarked box of black card. He glanced up at Marina curiously, but she just waved her hand for him to continue, unable to stop grinning.

Tom lifted the lid from the box and stared at what was inside. A gleaming feather of solid bronze lay on white gauzy paper, the tip curated into an elegant quill nib.

“Familiar with Stymphalian birds, are you?” Marina asked, watching his reaction closely.

He nodded, lifting the quill from the box and examining it closely. “It’s heavy,” he said quietly.

“You remember how you got mad at me for spending all the money you gave me on snacks in Athens?” Marina smirked.

Tom’s eyes flashed to hers at once.

“Well you may kindly eat those words, please,” she said smugly, “it was my cover story for where all my Galleons went.”

A single breath of a laugh fell from him and he shook his head. “I should have known,” he said dryly, “I don’t think you’re capable of purchasing food without forcefully giving at least half of it away.”

“You weren’t complaining when I gave you some of that _insanely_ good gelato in Heraklion,” she grinned. “Anyway, you better hide that because if Mrs Weasley realises I caved and bought a gift, you’ll have to arrange an impromptu funeral for me which would be mighty grim on Christmas.”

Tom replaced the lid of the box and gave a little wave of his hand – the paper and string disappeared without a trace, and he tucked the box under his arm before looking at her. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

The alcove suddenly felt much smaller. “You’re welcome,” Marina said a bit too loudly, decidedly moving away as quickly as she dared.

Tom caught her arm and her heart skipped a beat. “Wait,” he said quickly, glancing down the staircase and then back at her. “I have something of a confession of my own…”

Marina watched with wide eyes as he drew his wand and waved it. A small box wrapped in golden paper appear in his hands which he promptly handed to her.

“Oh, cool!” Marina said at once, turning the box over and watching the gold gleam and shine.

“The gift is inside the paper, Marina,” Tom deadpanned.

“How could it possibly compete?” she smirked – though she also set about unwrapping it, casting surreptitious looks down the staircase to check if Mrs Weasley would catch them.

"You're opening it now?" Tom asked, looking slightly taken aback.

"You're a bad influence on me, I guess," Marina said slyly, as if the real reason wasn't her undying curiosity and ridiculous crush. "Plus, the last time I waited, it ended up taking me six bloody years so I won't be making that mistake again..."

He gave her a rather wry smile that she had to order herself to look away from.

The paper encased a simple cardboard box, the lid of which she unfolded at once. There was a very familiar shape inside.

“Did you get me a mug?” said Marina excitedly, glancing at him.

“You are extraordinarily easy to shop for,” Tom said monotonously, leaning against the wall again with a small smirk.

Marina pulled it from the box and stared. The outside was decorated with an intricate mosaic of a very familiar shape – a Minoan style octopus looked back at her with large, white oval eyes blinking and long tentacled arms flowing as it swam across the surface of the mug rather beautifully.

“It’s also charmed,” Tom said quietly, watching her. “So when you inevitably forget your drinks a hundred times in a row, they won’t go cold.”

Marina looked at him, heart thudding very hard in her chest. “You are honestly the best,” she said, smiling.

Tom blinked, and did not reply. Marina felt as if all the air in the room had suddenly vanished, when all of a sudden they heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She shot Tom an alarmed look and he flicked his wand, making the box and golden paper disappear.

“You bought that yourself,” he said smoothly, nodding at the mug as he pushed off the wall, “and forgot about it until now.”

“That does sound like me,” Marina drawled as Charlie appeared in the stairway and shot them a deeply curious look where they were stood in the alcove together.

Marina’s cheeks went hot and turned away from Tom at once. She sped down the stairs to the kitchen to prepare the mug’s inaugural cup of tea, scooting around Jacob and Julian where they were helping Mrs Weasley’s preparations.

 _That wasn’t so bad,_ Marina thought bracingly as she prepared the tea. _I can do that, right? Totally normal._

She stared at the mug and the mosaic octopus blinked back at her, before it twirled in a little circle making the seaweed behind it sway. A very warm feeling had settled in her chest, and Marina wondered how long she could kid herself.

Mrs Weasley had to the magically elongate the kitchen table so that it might stand a chance at housing fifteen people, and by the time they all sat down that evening, Marina wondered if it might give out under the weight of everything laden upon it.

Considering nearly everything in the dinner came from the Weasleys’ own garden, the spread Mrs Weasley had managed to produce for their meal was truly spectacular. There was a huge, glistening ham dead centre, as well as a roast chicken and the sausage rolls Marina had laboured over the day before. Bowls of glazed carrots, minted peas, roasted chestnuts, and potatoes of every variety decorated the table, along with a plate of little Yorkshire puddings, and stacks of soft bread rolls. It was breath-taking, even more so after the scant few months they’d had – though Aunt Muriel still pointedly asked about why there weren’t any brussels sprouts and earned a very sharp look from Mrs Weasley that thankfully went unnoticed.

Marina – to her mutual horror and delight – was sitting directly across from Tom, and got a front row seat as Fred made him pull a bright silver Christmas cracker with him. It went off with a bang like a car backfiring, leaving Fred the victor. He immediately seized the bright red beret that had burst from the cracker and forced it onto Tom’s head at a jaunty angle that had made Ginny snort with laughter before he’d managed to take it off.

Marina, already wearing a broad cowboy hat from her cracker with Charlie, leaned forward to grab the everlasting bubble mixture that had fallen from Fred and Tom’s cracker and began blowing bubbles at once. The huge, gleaming bubbles floated cheerfully across the table for the next two hours before the charm slowly faded and they popped with a surprisingly loud _bang_ that made Mrs Weasley fling her sherry glass across the room in surprise.

After the last of the Christmas cake had been eaten, they all moved into the lounge and Marina watched with great amusement as Charlie and Tonks attempted to demonstrate a waltz to the reedy music wheedling from the radio (the former was rather drunk, and the latter just extremely flat-footed). Their stumbling efforts were only made all the more amusing by the fact that Tonks was sporting Marina's cowboy hat and Charlie had donning the red beret, which clashed horribly with his hair.

Everyone was so cheerful that it was nearly possible to forget the war for an evening, or that Remus was conspicuously absent from Tonks' side because he was still being hunted by the Ministry, or that Mrs Weasley's eyes watered every now and then when she caught Mr Weasley's eye and he squeezed her hand a little tighter.

It was very late at night when Mr and Mrs Weasley stood and said goodnight, Mr Weasley rather dejectedly citing his early rise for work the following morning, and Tonks’ parents were not far behind them. Aunt Muriel demanded loudly that they keep the noise down as she decrepitly climbed the stairs, not noticing the rude but extremely accurate impression Ginny was doing of her behind her back as she and Tonks followed her. Fred and George threw a well-aimed Myriapod Missile at Tom as they ascended the stairs, but he deflected it with a rather nonchalant flick of his wand as if very used to this.

Bill and Fleur left shortly afterwards, and the second Marina heard their door close, she shrugged Charlie’s arm off her shoulder and flung herself backwards onto the couch, loading her legs into his lap.

“God, this is so weird,” she snickered.

“Only another few days,” Charlie said, dramatically forlorn. “Merlin, I don’t think I can keep up being this nice to you for much longer.”

“I know, it’s unnatural,” Marina rolled her eyes. “We couldn’t have come up with a different alibi? Unlikely roommate perhaps? Childhood best friend?”

“Alibi?” Tom frowned, looking up from the couch opposite them where he’d been trying out his new quill.

“Yeah, me and Charlie,” Marina said distractedly, waving her hand between the two of them.

Tom looked at her blankly. Suddenly, Charlie slapped her shin very hard.

“Ow! What the hell Charlie?” she said loudly, drawing her leg up to her chest and rubbing the place he'd hit as she shot him a scandalised look.

“Did you forget to tell Tom that we were fake dating?” Charlie rolled his eyes.

“No! I – oh,” Marina looked around at Tom who was still staring at them. “Maybe,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Honestly Marina, those degrees of yours aren’t worth the paper they’re written on,” Charlie said exasperatedly, shaking his head. “Dense as a troll, you are.”

“Hey! It’s partly his fault for thinking I’d actually date you, grossarooni!” Marina protested indignantly.

“Why exactly are you putting on this act?” Tom asked evenly. A large ink spot was appearing on his parchment where the quill was still rested.

“To explain why a random ass Muggle who knows everything about the wizarding world is around for Christmas,” Marina said tiredly, flinging her arms back on the couch.

Tom’s level gaze did not shift. “I see,” he said coolly.

“Don’t you look at me like that, Riddle,” Marina laughed. _Act normal. Like he’s Charlie_. “You could have had the absolute honour of being my fake boyfriend but you were too busy swanning around Malfoy Manor.”

Tom’s expression turned incredulous. “ _Swanning around Malfoy Manor_?” he repeated scathingly.

“Well,” Charlie said bracingly, pushing Marina’s legs off of his lap and standing. “I think I’ll go to bed. Merry Christmas, you two.”

“Bye Charlie,” Marina called, nerves twisting her stomach at Tom’s rather intense stare.

“What?” she shrugged defensively.

Something worked in his jaw and his lips were pressed together hard. “Nothing,” he said flatly, looking back down at his parchment.

Marina raised an eyebrow. He looked very agitated. “Alrighty,” she said slowly, standing up. “I’m getting a drink, you want one?”

“No, thank you,” he said crisply, not looking at her.

She rolled her eyes. By the time she’d returned, Tom had put away the quill and parchment and was staring at the fireplace, his elbows on his knees again, the lines of his body tense. Marina frowned. Something was wrong.

“Hey,” she said, stepping forward and sitting next to him.

Tom looked around at her as if alarmed.

“What’s going on?” Marina asked curiously.

Tom’s eyes flicked to the cup in her hands, lingering on the mosaic octopus who was swimming in circles rather excitedly. He turned back to the fire without saying anything.

“Tom,” she said gently, nudging him with her shoulder.

“I would rather not talk about it,” he said mechanically.

Marina’s frown returned. “Alright,” she said slowly, leaning back on the couch. “If that’s what you want.”

She looked at the octopus herself, watched as it blinked its cute eyes at her and twisted a long arm as if trying to hold onto her finger pressed against the ceramic. “I think Ginny has a bit of a crush on you,” she said suddenly.

Tom snorted. “What?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Marina smirked. “She blushed rather a lot when you passed her the gravy at dinner.”

He gave her a dry look, and shook his head despondently. Marina’s eyes widened, suddenly noticing something about him.

“Oh my god, are you wearing a Weasley jumper?” she asked incredulously, staring at the black woollen jumper and its pale yellow T on the front.

“Yes,” he smirked, leaning back. “They’re rather comfortable, you know.” He casually strung his arm over the back of the couch, and Marina pointedly ignored the way it was now almost around her shoulders.

“That’s brilliant,” she snickered. “Can you imagine telling yourself six years ago that you’d one day willingly wear that thing? Honestly…”

“That would certainly not be the first thing I’d say if I had the chance to talk to myself from six years ago,” Tom said delicately, eyes falling on the coffee table.

“If I had the chance talk to myself from six years ago, I just wouldn’t,” Marina snorted. “I was a nightmare.”

Tom looked at her, amused. “Oh?”

“Yeah, every year I slowly get more and more tolerable,” she grinned.

“One can only hope,” he said monotonously.

She elbowed him in the ribs, but he only gave his breath of a laugh. She sipped at her drink, but after a second Marina realised that Tom hadn’t looked away.

“What?” she asked, not liking how hollow her voice had gone.

Tom only looked at her. Marina’s cheeks went warm, and she looked back at her cup quickly. “We should go to sleep soon,” she frowned, leaning forward and putting it on the coffee table. “It’s getting pretty late.”

“Marina,” he said quietly.

She met his eyes at once. Marina could suddenly feel her pulse on her skin. The quiet, warm room seemed to fade away, the gently glowing Christmas tree in the corner, the crackling fireplace, the storm outside disappearing because Tom was staring at her with an inscrutable expression on his face and his dark blue eyes unmoving from her. He was close, dangerously close, his arm on the couch behind her making him seem all the closer and as the moment went on, little alarm bells started going off in Marina’s head saying that they were straying further and further from normal friend behaviour.

“Yeah?” she said breathily.

He seemed to hesitate, his head tilting curiously. “Would you really have asked me?”

“Asked you what?” Marina said whisperingly.

“To pretend to be your partner,” said Tom, eyes flicking between hers. “If I had not been at Malfoy Manor.”

“No,” Marina said thickly as her heart gave a very painful thud and her stomach twisted.

Tom quirked a brow.

“That would be weird,” she stammered.

“Why?” he asked evenly.

“I don’t know,” Marina said blandly. “It would just be – I don’t –”

“You asked Charlie,” Tom said smoothly.

“Charlie’s like my brother,” she said quickly.

There was a brief silence.

“And I am not,” Tom said quietly, turning to her a little more, barely another inch but enough to make her pulse race even faster. 

“No,” she whispered, wishing she could look away from him. She didn’t know what was happening, why he was asking her about it, what was going on with the way he was looking at her, if he’d noticed that her hands were trembling in her lap –

Tom frowned slightly, and she stared frozen in place as he slowly leaned towards her, dipping his head to the side slightly, his eyes never leaving hers, and she realised all at once what was happening and –

Marina pulled back a centimetre. She didn’t mean to, but her confusion and her surprise seemed to jerk her away from him like a reflex. Tom stilled at once. A horrible second passed, and then something flat fell over his eyes.

“My apologies,” Tom said evenly, voice utterly composed and expression completely blank. “I misinterpreted the situation.”

He pulled away and Marina’s brain suddenly started working again. _He thought me and Charlie were together. So last night, he would have thought…_

“Tom,” she said quickly, but he ignored her, standing without looking at her.

“Tom, wait –”

She seized his arm as he passed her, and used it to pull herself up and him back at the same time. He looked back around at her at once, expression no longer blank. Marina stared up at him, able to see every detail of his tension – the way he was holding his jaw, his lips pressed together, the heat in his eyes, the sound of his breath slightly harder than normal. She forced herself to speak before she could second guess it.

“You didn’t,” she breathed.

Tom’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly as his eyes roamed her face, almost wary. Marina could see the hesitation in him, the uncertainty. Her heart raced, but she pushed down the nerves storming in her stomach and closed the last step between them, feeling a strange thrill as she came so close to him.

He watched her with a reserved expression and a slightly furrowed brow, not reacting but not moving away either. Marina was in the middle of wondering if maybe she’d already fucked things up when Tom’s hands slowly came up behind her and rested lightly against the small of her back. Her eyes nearly fluttered shut at his touch, the feeling of his hands on her suddenly occupying every conscious thought in her head, her heart thudding hard and her skin burning as he gently pulled her closer to him.

Without thinking Marina was lifting her hand towards his face, slowly, cautiously, staring up at him to gage his reaction. His eyes were fixed on her, dark and heavy, watching her, still wary but with something behind them that she couldn't understand. Her fingers ached like they were impatient to know what his skin felt like.

The second before she touched him, Marina got the distinct feeling that she was about to do something utterly irreversible.

She grazed her fingers against his cheek, watching the spot intently. His skin was warm and soft, with the faintest texture despite being clean shaven. She was instantly captivated by it, almost forgetting what she was doing as she brushed the backs of her fingers up across the elegant curve of his cheekbone, then down the hollow of his cheek, and then – almost as if she’d been thinking about doing it for weeks – she traced her fingers back across his jaw, his neck, and into his hair. She curved them at once, tangling them in the thick, soft waves at the back of his head before remembering what the fuck she was doing and looking back into Tom’s eyes.

She nearly forgot to breath. Tom was looking at her with such an intense expression that her heart stuttered. His hands pressed harder on her back and pulled her closer to him and Marina didn’t think, she just lifted her other hand to rest lightly on his other cheek as she pulled him down to her, feeling the warmth of his body against her with that same thrill, his hair twisted between her fingers, and his soft skin beneath her palm.

At the last second they both seem to hesitate, their lips less than an inch apart, Tom's eyes lidded and heavy as he looked down at her and Marina's thoughts were spiralling, wondering what they were doing, how the hell they ended up here, what the fuck would happen next –

But it didn't matter. None of it mattered, because Tom's eyes flickered and he swallowed hard, letting out a slow breath through his nose that Marina felt brush warm across her lips as his hands slid slowly up her back and he drew her up to him, his head tilting as he leaned in. Her heart was beating so hard it sort of hurt, tightening her fingers in his hair and pulling him down to her too and –

A flash of bright blue light lit the room and something glowing white streaked past them. They both looked around at once, staring at the Patronus that had appeared before them.

“He has been sighted,” a deep, slow voice boomed from the lynx, so loud that Marina's ears ached and she heard commotion upstairs at once as people awoke. “Prepare yourselves,” it said, and then the lynx vanished.

Doors upstairs were crashing open and voices shouting as Tom looked back down at Marina, eyes wide and mouth tight.

“Tom,” she whispered, “what does that mean?”

“The Dark Lord is back in England,” he said quietly, eyes flicking between hers.

Marina stared at him, horrified.

“I have to go,” he said abruptly, stepping away and quickly pulling his Weasley jumper up past his shoulders and over his head, handing it to her. He turned and picked up his wand from the table as footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Mr and Mrs Weasley appeared in a panic, quickly followed by Bill and Fleur in their pyjamas and looking alarmed, and Fred and George who Apparated with a CRACK into the corner of the lounge.

“What’s going on?” Mr Weasley said loudly, approaching Tom with alarm all over his face.

“He’s back,” Tom said flatly. “I must leave at once.”

Mr Weasley’s face went tight, and he looked around at where Ginny, Charlie, and Tonks had also appeared on the stairs, blinking the sleep from their eyes and looking very scared.

“I will explain it,” Mr Weasley said lowly, looking back at Tom. “Go – be safe.”

He grasped Tom’s shoulder and nodded at him grimly. Tom nodded back with tight lips as Mrs Weasley quickly came over, pulling him into a hug with a fearful expression on her face.

“What’s happening, dad?” Ginny asked loudly, “where’s Tom going?”

Marina heard Mr Weasley turning to them, explaining something about Tom working for the Order, that he needed to leave because You-Know-Who had finally returned from wherever he had disappeared to over the last few weeks – but she wasn’t paying attention. Tom had caught her eye, and she wondered what sort of expression must be on her face because his eyes flickered slightly and his brows drew together as he looked back at her.

“When will you be back?” Charlie asked, sounding very worried as he came down the stairs two at a time.

“I cannot know,” Tom said, agitated and tense, “but there is no time, I must go now –”

Marina stared at him, something cold and limitless carving out a hole in her chest. He caught her eye again.

“I will return as soon as I can,” he murmured, barely more than a whisper but Marina felt it on her skin like a shiver.

For one hanging moment they just looked at each other across the room, and then there was a _snap,_ and Tom was gone.

Marina could hear the others talking and shouting, she could feel Charlie’s hand on her arm, heard his voice asking if she was alright in the sort of tone that made her think that he knew what might have changed between her and Tom since he had said goodnight – but she could not respond. She could only look down at the jumper that Tom had hastily pulled off and given her, still warm, feeling the ghosts of his hands on her back, wondering how long it would be before she felt them again.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  You know I had to do it to em.....  
>  Response to the last chapter was insane you guys are my literal heroes. Keep it coming, it gives me life force lmao  
>  And Charlie Marina shippers I am SORRY I've failed u.... I've always head cannoned him aro/ace too, so it literally didn't occur to me that ppl would want them to get together omg.  
>  Anyway, love u the most have a good day wherever in the world you are 💖  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	39. The Thaw

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **SHE HELD THE** basilisk fang in her hand and Tom stood in front of her. He looked tired, drawn, shadows under his eyes and his shoulders sagging like he could barely muster the energy to stay standing.

“Marina,” he said, exhausted.

She shook her head as he came closer. “No,” she croaked.

“I’m sorry,” said Tom softly, watching her as his fingers closed around her wrist. “I’m sorry that you were ever pulled into all of this in the first place.”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly, whisperingly, trying to resist as he gently lifted her hand holding the fang but finding herself unable to do so. “Please, Tom –”

He just placed the fang in her hand against his chest and pushed it hard. She could only watch helplessly, already crying as ink flowed out around the fang, washing over her hand in a cold black wave, staining her skin and running down her arm. She fell with him as he dropped to his knees, her hand still trapped on the fang buried in his chest.

He took shaky breaths and then met her eyes. “Marina, it’ll kill you,” Tom whispered, ink spilling down his chin.

She frowned. “What do you –”

“Do you resent me?” he murmured, staring at her.

“For what?”

His eyes dropped a bit, and Marina looked down, too. Her stomach lurched.

A basilisk fang was buried in her chest, Tom’s hand still holding it. Blood was washing over his hand in a hot red wave, staining his skin and running down his arm –

Marina woke with a long, rasping gasp, seizing at her chest in terror as she sat bolt upright. It ached as if he’d really stabbed her, so painful that tears erupted in her eyes – but she wanted to cry anyway. The sobs began at once, wracking her body as she heaved in breaths and leaned forward over her knees. If the noise woke the Weasleys, they did not come to talk to her – she had long since asked them to leave her be when the nightmares came.

When she regained control of her breathing, Marina opened her tired, swollen eyes and stared at the bed under her. Her hand still clutched at her chest where the fang had jutted, the top of the pale yellow T on Tom’s black jumper balled up and distorted in her fist over her heart. She’d hoped that wearing it would help with the nightmares. She’d been wrong, but she wore it anyway.

Marina forced her hand out of its fist and drew her arms around herself as she lay back down, her lips pressing together hard, and tears welling up in her eyes again as she pulled the duvet over her shoulders. It was the 31st of December today. Tom’s birthday.

He could be dead. He could be dead right now and she wouldn’t even know, Voldemort might have seen the truth in his mind and killed him –

She grit her teeth. No, Voldemort wouldn’t kill him, not when doing so only harmed himself. Much more likely Tom was locked in the cellar of Malfoy Manor with Luna and Ollivander, or had been thrown in Azkaban, or Voldemort was torturing him to insanity like he had the Longbottoms –

Her chest ached again, so hard that her ribs fell and a weak breath was pushed out from between her lips. It had nothing to do with the nightmare.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina sat down heavily at the kitchen table, leaning forward and exhaling slowly. It was just past seven in the morning, and there was still an hour before the sun would come up. She pushed her fingers against her temples, closing her eyes, breathing in the smell of her coffee before her.

It had been nearly three weeks since Tom had left, and the world seemed to be slipping away. They’d heard that Voldemort had been spotted at Godric’s Hollow on Christmas Eve, and that the Lovegood house being destroyed in some sort of accident, swarming with Death Eaters just before the end of the year. Marina did not know how to interpret this in the slightest – both these events were, according to her memory of the Deathly Hallows book, directly because of Harry looking for the sword of Gryffindor and investigating the Hallows respectively. She supposed neither of these really had anything specifically to do with hunting for Horcruxes so it wasn’t necessarily so surprising that they were still happening – but the fact that events were still apparently tracking the book so closely deeply unnerved her.

Marina started to wonder how much they’d actually managed to change. Horcruxes were a pretty big part of the book… but had it been naïve to think that things would be totally different just because they had altered that one facet of the story?

She sighed again, cracking her eyes open and letting her forehead fall into her hands as she stared at the octopus on her mug playfully twisting its tentacles around the base of the ceramic handle. If things really were so unchanged, did that mean she should warn them as to what would happen next? About the trio getting kidnapped by Death Eaters? Voldemort getting the Elder wand? The Battle of Hogwarts?

Marina went cold, as she always did when her thoughts wandered to the Battle. Tonks, Lupin, Fred…

“You alright?”

Marina’s head shot up. Charlie was standing right opposite her, frowning as he surveyed her. She hadn’t even noticed him coming down the stairs.

“Yeah,” she said tiredly, sipping her coffee. “Just… you know.”

Charlie nodded, mouth going tight as he fell into his seat. Right as he did so, there was a muffled feathery sound as an owl swooped down and landed on the windowsill above the bench. Charlie gave a loud sigh of exasperation.

“I just sat down,” he groaned.

Marina smirked. “Don’t say I never do anything for you,” she said with a smile as she got up.

“You’re a saint,” Charlie said blearily, pouring himself some tea from the pot on the table.

Marina scooped up a Knut from the little coin dish on the bench and slipped it into the pouch on the owl’s leg before pulling the Daily Prophet from its string. The owl flew off at once, and Marina threw the paper on the table, sitting down after it and seizing her coffee again.

“Don’t know why you bother,” muttered Charlie, giving it a disapproving look, “the Prophet’s all pro-regime propaganda these days.”

“If there’s one thing I learned from that History minor, it’s that you can learn just as much from something’s bias as the text itself,” Marina replied, peering at the front page. “What people decide to include and how they choose to say it tells you just as much as what’s not there.”

“Yeah, but you still have to read all that utter drivel,” Charlie snorted.

On the front page was a fairly standard sight – a huge flashing headline reading ‘ANOTHER MUDBLOOD FOUND GUILTY OF STEALING MAGIC,’ and a photo underneath of an ashen-faced young man in an Azkaban jumpsuit, flanked by Dementors, eyes wide and jaw trembling. She grimaced – and then paused. Her attention had been snagged by a much smaller line of text at the very top of the page. _Sunday 11 th January 1998_. She blinked.

“It’s my birthday,” she said, surprised.

Charlie’s brows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Marina looked up at him, amused. “Wait – do you think I’m actually a year older? I don’t know how long its been since my last birthday because of all the time travel.”

“Too complicated,” Charlie smirked. “Just roll with it.”

“I’m twenty-five then, I guess,” she said somewhat blankly, feeling strange.

“Well happy birthday,” he grinned. “Merlin, wait until mum finds out…”

“Reckon she’ll make me that apple crumble if I ask really nicely?” Marina said, smiling dreamily.

“She’ll make you anything you like,” he snorted, “bit late to get you a present isn’t it? She’ll definitely try to compensate with food.”

“Not complaining,” Marina snorted. “I don’t really mind not getting –”

There was a sound from the lounge and Marina’s head whipped around. It had been a crisp little _snap_ , like a bone cracking underfoot. She was out of her chair and racing around the corner into the lounge in the blink of an eye, but –

Marina’s eyes fell upon Mr Weasley lifting his foot to peer down at the twig he’d stepped on, fallen from the woodpile.

“Oh – morning, Marina,” Mr Weasley said with a weary smile, looking up at her.

“Morning,” she said thickly, shoving down her disappointment so that it didn’t pool as tears in her eyes. “Going to work?”

“Coming back,” he said grimly, “Ministry’s been nuts recently…”

Marina nodded numbly as Charlie rounded the corner too.

“Go get some sleep, dad,” he frowned at once. “You look like death propped up.”

“Excellent plan,” Mr Weasley said heavily, making his way to the stairs. “See you at dinner, you two.”

Charlie watched as Marina walked over to the couch and collapsed onto it, staring blankly at the coffee table.

“He’ll be back,” said Charlie gently. “Don’t you wo-“

“If you tell me to not worry, Charlie, I swear to _god_ ,” Marina said fiercely, resting her head on her palms.

He didn’t reply, he only came over and sat next to her on the couch. She felt his arm around her shoulders and let out a deep sigh, leaning against him.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s alright,” said Charlie, giving her a squeeze. “I get it.”

“I hate this,” whispered Marina, staring at the lounge absently.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina’s lungs were screaming, her legs aching, her face red and sweaty, but she kept running – past the line of trees at the boundary of the property, past the orchard, past the creek with the Murtlap infestation, and past the fence she always went to sit on to watch the sunrise. As she rounded onto the little hill that led up to the Burrow, Marina grit her teeth and forced herself into a full sprint. She felt her body protesting and pushed through it with relish, driving herself forward as fast as she could, one step after the next, eyes fixed on the Burrow in front of her.

She didn’t let herself stop until she reached the side of the house, almost running straight into it and catching herself hard on the wall with both arms. She leaned forward, heaving in breaths as her heart thundered in her chest. Dragging the hem of her shirt up to wipe her face, Marina turned and fell heavily against the wall, letting her head fall back against it with a thud.

After her breath had deepened out again, her eyes fell upon the pile of uncut firewood before her with the axe jutting from the chopping block next to it. Marina’s chest ached hard and she forced herself off the wall, turning away abruptly as she made her way around to the door. She pushed it open with her foot and beelined for the sink, filling up a glass with water and downing it quickly, then filling it up again. As she sipped at it, Marina turned and leaned against the bench, feeling her body slowly begin to cool after the intense exercise.

The Prophet was on the bench next to her. She stared stony-faced at the date at the top as it told her what she very well knew but would rather not be reminded of – it had been exactly a month since Tom had left, and they had heard absolutely nothing from him. Not a word on Potterwatch, not a single possible hint in the Daily Prophet, not an owl or a whisper from the fireplace – nothing.

Marina’s fingers tightened on the glass. Something in her began to whisper horribly, wondering if she would ever see Tom again.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

February came and Marina had never been less happy to see it. Valentine’s Day passed and the days slowly started to fill up with more sun and less rain, leading to her spending more and more time outside just to escape the suffocating heaviness that followed her around the Burrow. She started tending to the garden every day for hours at a time, small things at first like pulling the weeds from around the bean poles and spraying the big apple tree for lacewing flies, but as the frosts grew milder and the garden bounced back from winter, Marina only increased her efforts.

There was something incredibly cathartic about the simplicity of it – plant something, tend to it, watch it grow. The plants didn’t know that Voldemort was in power, or that the Daily Prophet included supplements instructing people on how to ‘identify Mudbloods on sight’ and to report them immediately, or that Xenophilius Lovegood had gone missing. The plants didn’t care that Marina was sleeping less and spending more and more time wondering if she should go against Dumbledore’s most resolute rule and all of his pleading advice, if she should tell people what she knew of the possible future. If she should try to save the lives she knew might be lost in the coming war. If doing so would throw things so far off track that it would cause more harm than she’d avoid. All the garden knew was that it was sunnier every day as March grew closer and that Marina kept it weedless and well-watered. That was all it needed to know to grow.

“Ouch!” Marina hissed, pulling her hand back and staring at the garden gnome latched onto her hand. Its needle-like teeth had sunk straight through Charlie’s rather frayed dragon-skin gloves and into her flesh, and she let a terse sigh through her nose.

“Excuse me,” she said irritably to the gnome as it dangled there. “Do you fucking mind?”

The gnome gave her a rude hand gesture that she could only assume Fred and George had taught them over the holidays. Marina poked its ribs with a stick and it let go with a furious yelp, cursing loudly as it scurried off.

She pulled the glove off to inspect the bite. It wasn’t bleeding much (even though it stung something horrible) but she still pushed herself up and dusted the dirt off her knees to go inside – gnome bites would get infected in a heartbeat. Marina picked up the basket next to her that contained the last of the winter onions and a huge pile of green pea pods before turning back to the Burrow, absently reminding herself to ask Charlie to help her set up a cover over the herb patch to stop the Flitterby moths munching on the new leaves.

There was a shriek from inside and Marina froze, panic flooding her body. Her thoughts raced to Death Eaters and Snatchers and the people from the Ministry coming to take them away – but the next second she heard Mrs Weasley’s delighted cries, rapid footsteps coming down the stairs, and Charlie’s voice joining the thrum. Another thought occurred to her, a hopeful, insane, impossible thought that made something shaky flutter in her chest. She tentatively stepped forward, staring at the window as she passed it. Her stomach twisted when she caught sight of Mrs Weasley hugging someone in the lounge, someone tall, someone with dark hair –

Marina’s cheeks went hot and her pulse thundered in her ears as she slowly rounded the corner of the Burrow with her legs feeling like they might give out beneath her. She pushed through the kitchen door with trembling hands and stopped in her tracks.

Tom looked around from Mrs Weasley, who had both her hands on his cheeks and was in the middle of interrogating him about his wellbeing with equal parts fondness and stringency. Marina stared back at him, her eyes wide, her skin burning. Mrs Weasley caught sight of her too and ceased her interrogation, stepping back from Tom with a very knowing smile on her face.

“Apologies for the delay,” Tom said evenly, almost hesitant as he watched her from across the living room.

Marina very much felt like laughing at this rather monstrous understatement, considering he’d been gone for more than two months (nine weeks and three days if she were to be precise). She felt like saying something about how he really needed to figure out the definition of the word ‘soon,’ or making a joke about how he’d missed her birthday, or asking him if he was okay, or demanding to know what the fuck happened to keep him away him for so long. She felt like bursting into tears, or maybe she felt like smiling uncontrollably – but there was one thing she felt like doing that utterly eclipsed everything else, something she’d felt like doing for a very long time.

The basket fell from her hands to the floor with a light thud and she was stepping towards him with long, hasty steps that closed the distance between them in a flash. Tom’s expression flickered and he turned towards her as she came and then –

Marina threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his collar and hugging him so hard that her feet came up off the floor thanks to him being nearly a foot taller than her. His arms closed tightly around her at once and she squeezed her eyes shut against her prickling tears, barely able to believe that he was really there. She tightened her arms, relishing in the feeling of him, the heady, stupidly good smell of him, the fact that he was really back after so long. His arms tightened too and she nearly went dizzy at how good it felt.

It was some time before Tom gently leaned forward and her feet touched the ground again, but neither of them pulled away. His arms felt wonderful around her, his head bowed over her and his cheek pressing against her temple. Marina inhaled deeply, holding her breath before letting it go, her face still pressed into the crook of his neck. Slowly, it was as if the tension and fear and worry of the past two months was dissipating, and she was growing more and more relaxed as reality was setting in. He was back, he was _back,_ he was right there, he hadn’t been discovered by Voldemort, he was alright –

Her thoughts suddenly snagged.

 _Was_ he alright?

Marina reluctantly pulled away a bit and slid her hands from around Tom’s neck to each side of his jaw, her eyes raking across his face anxiously. She distantly registered that both Charlie and Mrs Weasley had vanished from the lounge and that she could hear noises and voices from the kitchen where they had resumed preparing lunch.

“What happened?” asked Marina, her voice a lot shakier than she’d been expecting. “Are you alright? What – why were you –”

“I’m fine,” Tom said quietly, eyes on hers. “It was not possible to leave without drawing unwanted attention until now.”

Marina nodded quickly, her hands fluttering somewhat restlessly against his jaw. “I thought he’d – I thought you’d been –”

“I’m fine,” he said again, his expression softening.

She nodded again, pressing her lips together hard and not trusting her voice to stay even to speak again.

Tom blinked, then his head slowly fell and he lightly rested his forehead on hers. His eyes closed and he took a long breath, his shoulders dropping a bit as he visibly relaxed. Marina could only look up at him, slightly mesmerised by the sight. He looked very tired – she could see shadows under his eyes like little bruises – but he was as unignorably beautiful as the last time she’d seen him. Her eyes lingered on his dark lashes, the elegant angles of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw beneath her fingers, his full lips –

Tom’s eyes cracked open and he caught her staring. “Marina,” he said shrewdly, the corner of his mouth curling. “What are you doing?”

“I haven’t been able to look at you for some time,” she replied, a smile fluttering on her own lips. “Excuse me for enjoying the privilege of being able to do so all of a sudden.”

Tom huffed his little breath of a laugh and Marina’s heart clenched, not having realised just how much she’d missed hearing it.

As she stared at him, something between them seemed to shift. All of a sudden, Marina could only think about his arms around her waist, how he was barely a breath away, how her palms were still softly holding his face, how his eyes dropped to her mouth for a split second before returning to hers, dark and hooded –

“How long are you back for, Tom?” Charlie asked conversationally as he rounded the corner into the lounge.

Marina dropped her hands from Tom at once, hastily stepping backwards out of his arms and viscerally aware that she was blushing furiously.

“Oh, sorry,” Charlie grinned smugly, looking deeply amused. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Marina said quickly, not quite able to look either of them in the eye. “I should – I dropped the –”

She sped over to where the basket still lay by the door, seized it, and retreated into the kitchen without looking over her shoulder. Mrs Weasley gave her another knowing smile from where she was charming boiled potatoes to mash themselves, and Marina felt like sinking through the floor. She set about shelling the peas at absolute lightning speed, and resolutely did not look up as Tom and Charlie came around the corner.

“We’ve got him for two days,” Charlie said triumphantly, sitting down and giving Marina a surreptitious wink. She shot him a deadpan glare and returned to the peas.

“Only two days, Tom?” Mrs Weasley asked slowly, looking concerned.

“The Dark Lord is conducting an interrogation somewhere in Austria,” Tom said quietly, “he is searching for something, though he has trusted no one with the knowledge of what.”

Marina’s lips pressed together and she frowned at the bowl of peas before her.

“Why did he come back before Christmas?” asked Charlie seriously.

“I believe that his snake nearly captured Harry Potter,” murmured Tom.

The pot of mashed potatoes crashed loudly into the sink as Mrs Weasley spun on her heel.

“He was unsuccessful,” Tom said quickly, “his anger at that failure lasted for quite some time afterwards…”

“Oh,” Mrs Weasley breathed in relief, flicking her wand at the pot and sending it careening over to the waiting serving dish. “Merlin’s beard Tom, you scared me half to death…”

“He has now fully resumed his previous search,” Tom continued thoughtfully, “though he has been returning to the Manor much more frequently.”

“Hence you only staying two days,” Charlie said matter-of-factly, nodding.

“Indeed,” said Tom, a smile playing on his lips.

Mrs Weasley waved her wand at the bowl of peas in front of Marina and they streamed upwards, flinging themselves into a boiling pot of water on the stovetop. “We’ll have you for however long we can,” she said briskly as plates flew from the cabinets in front of each of them. “You’re very welcome to stay whenever you’re able.”

“Thank you,” said Tom quietly.

Marina sat down opposite him and Charlie, seizing the large, very colourful pot of tea from the centre of the table. “Don’t wait nine weeks next time though,” she mumbled.

“It was not by choice,” he replied smoothly, watching her pour tea into her octopus mug and spoon in a considerable amount of sugar afterwards. “Nor my preference.”

“Marina, what in Merlin’s name happened to your hand?” Charlie asked exasperatedly, reaching forward and grabbing it to inspect the bite.

“Oh,” she said blankly, “I forgot about that.”

“Did you get bitten by _another_ gnome?” he said, raising a brow.

“Yeah, they must have a den somewhere near the pea plants,” Marina yawned as Charlie turned her hand over.

“Better get that seen to, dear,” Mrs Weasley said seriously, setting down a sizzling cast iron pan of sausages in the middle of the table. “Remember that first time.”

“What happened the first time?” Tom asked at once, sounding pre-emptively disapproving.

“She got a bite and didn’t tell anyone because she didn’t reckon it looked bad,” Charlie snorted, shaking his head, “ended up in bed for two days with an infection.”

Tom levelled Marina with a very flat look. “Give it here,” he said monotonously, indicating for her hand.

Marina rather nervously offered him her hand which he delicately took in his long fingers, drawing his wand. A shiver passed across her skin at his touch, and she must have blushed because Charlie gave a muffled snort of laughter. She kicked him under the table.

“I have a gnome bite linctus upstairs, Tom,” called Mrs Weasley as she bustled away to fetch the peas.

“I know a spell,” he said quietly, waving his wand across the little constellation of pin-prick wounds on Marina’s skin. They immediately stitched together and stopped stinging. She glanced up at him, impressed.

“What spell’s that, Tom?” Charlie asked curiously, finally having stopped snickering at Marina. “Bites like that don’t heal easily.”

“I enjoy inventing spells,” replied Tom evenly, stowing his wand as Marina drew back her hand to admire her healed skin. “Healing magic is especially challenging and thus the most rewarding. That particular spell will work on most bites.”

“Clever one, aren’t you?” said Charlie pleasantly. “Can see why Marina likes you so much.”

 _“God_ , Charlie,” she said loudly. “One more word out of you and I’ll tell them that story you let slip about a certain incident involving a bottle of firewhisky and pile of Peruvian Vipertooth dung –”

“Alright, alright,” he interrupted quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “I yield… Merlin’s beard, you’re ruthless.”

“I think perhaps we can gather what occurred based on those elements alone,” Tom smirked.

“You really can’t,” snickered Marina.

It was Charlie’s turn to kick her under the table.

After lunch, Marina very much wanted to try to talk to Tom but Mrs Weasley sent him away with Charlie to deal to the nest of doxies that had set up residence in the main chimney, and she was tasked with cutting firewood for the evening. Potterwatch was expected to run that night, and Mrs Weasley was visibly anxious about what she might hear. Her hands were already trembling as she charmed the dishes into a soapy tempest in the sink, so Marina obeyed her at once, not wishing to add to her troubles.

As she made her way to the door, she passed Tom and Charlie where they were both peering up into the fireplace with wands in hand. She caught Tom’s eye, and their gaze lingered a second. Marina wondered if perhaps he’d been thinking along the same lines as her when a sudden huge explosion of ash from the hearth and the teetering of angry doxies drew his attention, breaking the moment and letting Marina push out the door with warm cheeks.

She was nearly finished with the wood when she heard the door swinging shut and turned to see Tom surveying her, his hands in the pockets of his trousers and his face smeared with ash.

“You look a treat,” Marina snickered, swinging the axe hard into the log before her and watching in satisfaction as it split perfectly in two with a gratifying woody clunk.

“What happened to the privilege of looking at me?” Tom smirked, cocking his head.

Marina rolled her eyes at him and lined up another log. “Your personality finally caught up and ruined it,” she said teasingly, nudging the wood forward with the tip of her shoe.

“What a cruel thing to say,” he drawled, expression unchanged.

“Don’t take it to heart,” she said nonchalantly. “I’m just mad at you for missing my birthday.”

“Did I?” asked Tom, voice slightly quieter.

“Yes,” she grinned, swinging the axe. “I’ll never forgive you.”

“How old are you now? A hundred and seven?” he said casually, pulling his wand from his pocket and twirling it absently between his long fingers.

“Jerk,” Marina scoffed. “You know I’m only two years older than you. God, you’re as bad as Charlie.”

“Charlie certainly enjoys antagonising you,” Tom said humorously.

“Charlie’s a little shit,” Marina muttered. "Hey - are you going to talk to the Order about the last few months?"

"What do you mean?" Tom frowned.

"All the shit you've seen, being around You-Know-Who and stuff. I'm surprised the Order isn't all over you," she shrugged, splitting another log.

"I doubt they will ask," Tom replied thoughtfully, wand still twirling in his fingers. "Arthur implied very early on that I should keep what I've seen to myself - if the Death Eaters start to suspect that they have someone leaking information to the Order, it will only endanger my position and the success of my plans."

"And - Luna - is she -"

"She is remarkably well, all things considered," he said wearily, "as is Ollivander. Their wellbeing is somewhat secured by the fact that they both serve purposes to the Dark Lord."

Marina nodded, tight-lipped as she left the axe embedded in the block and crouched to stack some logs. She remembered Ollivander saying something along those lines when they'd been locked in the cellar together. "Good, I suppose," she said curtly, standing with her arms full.

She turned to take the logs back to the house and nearly dropped them in surprise – Tom was suddenly right behind her.

“Jesus _Christ,_ Riddle,” Marina exclaimed, jumping. “We gotta get you a bell.”

“A bell?” he repeated derisively, quirking a brow.

“Yeah,” she said blankly, staring at him. He was very close and her cheeks felt warmer at once. “So you… so you don’t sneak up on me.”

Tom slowly shook his head with a sort of impassive amusement. “Would you like a hand?” he asked quietly, lips slightly curved in a smile.

“Huh?”

“With the firewood,” he added, little smile growing.

“Oh,” she said stupidly, “sure – thanks.”

Marina handed over the armful of logs, wiped her hands on her shorts, and glanced up at him. Her heart lurched – Tom was already looking back at her. A ringing moment passed where she thought perhaps they were both considering saying something about the elephant in the room. Tom’s brow furrowed ever so slightly and a little thrill of exhilaration went through her as he opened his mouth to speak when –

“Merlin’s beard, can you two just snog each other and get it over with?” Charlie said exasperatedly from where he’d rounded the corner of the house and found them staring at each other again. “If this is what it’s going to be like every time you’re back from now on, Tom –”

Marina seized the top log off the pile in Tom’s arms and lobbed it full force at Charlie who had to duck back behind the house to avoid it – though it did not have the intended effect.

“Mum wants that wood now, please,” Charlie said, poking his grinning face back around the corner, “if you two could stop gazing longingly at each other for five seconds and –”

“Charlie,” Marina snarled, threateningly bearing another log.

“Alright! I’m going!” he smirked, though they could hear him snickering as he retreated.

“I’m sorry about that,” Marina said hastily, crouching again and stacking more logs into her arms at breakneck speed. “He’s not half as funny as he thinks he is.”

“Actually I’m rather enjoying of Charlie’s sense of humour these days,” Tom said smoothly as she stood.

Marina stared at him incredulously. He gave her a ridiculously attractive smirk before turning to lead the way back to the Burrow, leaving her slightly stunned and with a heart rate that rivalled the time she’d drunk six pots of jasmine green tea in two hours because she hadn’t realised it was caffeinated.

The way things were going, the war would already be over and she’d be in a constant state of arrhythmia before she had the chance to properly talk to Tom again.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  We have another double whammy team. Next chapter will probs be out either in a few hours if I'm onto it or tomorrow!!!! (I was away from wifi for a while in the past week and went a bit ballistic on writing). Let's just say I'm extremely excited about posting the next one ;)  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	40. The Very Bad Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: some salaciousness (and some toe-curling amounts of fluff thrown in for good measure). You've been warned._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **MRS WEASLEY LEANED** forward and flicked off the radio, sighing deeply. Fred and George had guested that evening’s Potterwatch with Lee Jordan, and their very rambunctious game of ‘kiss, marry, kill’ with various combinations of Death Eaters had clearly exasperated her just as much as it had entertained Marina. Even Tom had smirked when George and Lee had declared Lucius Malfoy ‘more kissable’ than either Severus Snape or Bellatrix Lestrange, sparking a rather heated debate with Fred that had only ended when they had agreed that they would ultimately prefer killing all three.

“Well, at least there was no one to report missing for once,” Mrs Weasley said stiffly, shaking her head in disbelief. “For Merlin’s sake, how they get away with all that I will never know…”

“Laughing at the Death Eaters is the best thing they can do on that show,” Charlie snorted. “It’s a form of warfare in itself considering half of You-Know-Who’s scare tactics revolve around making them seem all-knowing and all-powerful.”

“It certainly renders them more human,” Tom said dryly, leaning back on the couch next to Marina and drawing her gaze for quite some time with his rather captivating nonchalance. “They lose quite a lot of mystique when one is arguing over who would make a worse spouse.”

“They should be more careful,” grumbled Mrs Weasley, standing and aggressively folding the blanket that she’d had on her lap. “It’s the sort of thing they should handle with a bit more sensitivity –”

“If anyone’s looking to Fred and George for sensitivity, they’re very much barking up the wrong tree,” said Charlie with a scoff, standing and rounding up onto the stairs.

“Not so fast, young man,” Mrs Weasley said sharply, waving her wand at the cupboard in the corner which instantly spat out a series of thick blankets and folded sheets. “I need you to help bring up the linen for Tom –”

Charlie took an armful of the blankets from the air and shot Marina a cheeky look from behind them. “Which room is he staying in, mum?”

“Fred and George’s, dear.”

“Are you sure?” Charlie smirked quietly, winking at Marina.

She leapt to her feet, cheeks hot. “Well, I’m going to bed,” she said loudly. “See you in the morning.”

Marina bypassed Charlie with a very well-timed jab to his ribs that nearly made him drop the blankets, and closed the door to Percy’s door behind her – she had relocated there after the holidays, since Ginny’s room was still prone to the occasional snowfall and had remained a good five degrees colder than the rest of the house. She sighed deeply, flopping onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. Disappointment and relief that the day had passed without talking to Tom about Christmas Eve raged in her chest, and neither seemed likely to be gaining the upper hand any time soon.

Marina changed into her pyjamas, wrangled her hair into a braid, and had just pulled on her woolliest socks when she heard the light knock at her door. She froze. There was a strangely loaded silence before she slowly approached it and cracked it open. Her heart immediately started beating in double time.

“Hi,” she said, very much not meaning to whisper. Tom was wearing that same grey shirt and she had to physically restrain herself from staring at where the collar had slipped down again.

“Hello,” he said, lips quirking a bit in amusement.

“I was wondering if I’d ever get a chance to talk to you,” Marina smiled, managing to sound half-normal.

“Oh?” Tom arched a brow as he placed a hand on the door frame beside her and leaned there casually, making her stomach flip. “Something on your mind?”

“For quite some time,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on his.

He stared back at her a moment, and then he took a long, slow step towards her. Marina’s heart jumped into her throat.

“You have not changed your mind, then?” Tom asked quietly.

She laughed in surprise, unable to stop herself. “Did you think I would have?”

Tom frowned like he didn’t understand her amusement. “I have been gone for a very long time, Marina.”

“And you thought I’d what, forget you exist?” she snorted. “I have better object permanence than that, Tom, I’m not a toddler. Or a fish.”

“That is not what I meant,” he said curtly. “I thought perhaps that the reality of the last two months may have affected your decision, that you would have had time to take into account how extremely inconvenient this would be –”

 _“Inconvenient?_ ” Marina repeated rather bitingly, eyebrows raising.

“I will have to return to Malfoy Manor regularly,” Tom said sharply, “I will still be posing as a Death Eater _and_ the Dark Lord’s heir for days on end –”

“I’m aware,” Marina interrupted, folding her arms.

Tom gave her something of a caustic look. “And it cannot have escaped your notice that I am still technically a Horcrux,” he continued hotly.

“Are you really?” she drawled. “I’d forgotten – you’ve been gone too long, you see.”

He glared at her. “That means nothing to you? That I do not have a complete soul?”

“No,” she said brutally.

“I will still have to die,” he said bluntly.

She faltered.

“If I cannot find a solution through my time with the Dark Lord, I will still have to die. This would not change that,” said Tom much more quietly, watching her closely.

Marina’s gaze raked across his face. There was something almost confrontational about his expression, some penetratingly calculating. “What are you doing?” she asked gently.

Tom frowned again, drawing back a centimetre. “What do you mean?” he asked very evenly.

“Are you testing me?” she pressed, tilting her head.

He didn’t say anything, which Marina took as a yes.

“You don’t need to,” she shrugged. “If there’s something you want to say, you can just say it.”

Tom was silent for a long moment, assessing her warily. “I have had a lot of time to think since Christmas,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure that this is a good idea.”

Marina’s heart sank so hard that her chest ached, and she had to force herself to keep it off of her face. She nodded slowly, dropping her eyes to the floor. “I see,” she said evenly.

“Marina, I am not…” he said lowly, pressingly. He looked down too, brow furrowing like he couldn’t figure out how to say what he wanted to say. “I’m hardly… a good choice. It would not be easy for you,” he finished softly.

“For _me?_ ” Marina repeated, eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to convince me to leave you alone because you’ve decided it would be better for me?”

“It _would_ be better for you,” he said stiffly, “or should I repeat my previous points?”

“You don’t actually get to decide what is and isn’t good for me, thanks,” said Marina rather acidly.

“Nothing about this would be simple,” he said tensely, clearly exasperated as he leaned heavily on the doorframe.

“Two years ago I thought you were a book character, Tom, this was never going to be simple,” she deadpanned.

“I have to die, Marina,” Tom said quietly.

She faltered again, the words washing through her in an aching wave as Tom watched her with guarded eyes. Marina blinked quickly, averting her eyes again so that he couldn’t see how hard she was trying to keep herself from crying.

“You can’t just not start stuff because it’ll end one day,” she muttered, frowning. “We’d never be able to do anything at all.”

After a long silence, Marina trusted herself to look up at him again. Tom was still watching her, nothing but the visible turmoil in his eyes betraying the composure on his face.

“Besides,” Marina continued with an attempt at a half smile, “you should focus on making your own decisions and trust me to handle making mine.”

Tom didn’t reply but his brow furrowed again at her words, and she could practically hear his head whirring with thoughts.

“When you figure out what you want to do, come talk to me,” she said softly, leaning her head on the door. “But until then, you should get some sleep – you look exhausted.”

He nodded absently, still frowning. Marina’s smile grew as she looked at him, even though she felt sad.

“Goodnight, Tom,” she said gently.

Tom’s eyes dropped at once. “Goodnight,” he said evenly, pushing against his hand and drawing himself back.

Marina slowly shut the door, the click when it closed sounding strangely sharp and making her wince. She turned, leaning back against it and closing her eyes as she listened to Tom’s footsteps away from Percy’s room back to the main stairway. Marina sighed deeply, her head falling back against the wood with a dull thunk. That had very much not gone how she’d wanted.

A second passed. Marina frowned, her eyes opening.

There was silence on the stairs outside – she couldn’t hear Tom’s footsteps anymore.

Her head rolled to the side, listening, wondering what he was doing. It hadn’t sounded like he’d gotten past the alcove, so why had he stopped? Suddenly, she heard his steps again, but – her stomach swooped – they were getting closer. Her cheeks went hot and her heart picking up its pace very hopefully as she pushed off the door and turned around again, staring at it, waiting in the ringing silence.

“Marina,” Tom said quietly from the other side of the door, his voice low and heavy in a way that made her both very nervous and very excited.

She swallowed. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the handle and tentatively opened the door.

Tom stood there, one arm propped on the door frame like before, his eyes flashing up to hers at once and her breath caught in her chest at the heat in them. He was stepping forward before she even had a chance to ask him why he’d come back, two long strides that sent Marina’s heart racing and his hands were coming up and cupping her face and she was barely even able to register how good his touch felt before his lips were on hers.

Marina’s head spun, her eyes falling shut at once as Tom kissed her so hard she felt dizzy, his lips soft and warm but with an intensity that sent waves of heat across her skin, her hands curling into fists of the soft grey fabric of his shirt. The door slammed shut behind him without him even touching it and Tom turned her smoothly, stepping her back against it without breaking the kiss.

Marina’s back hit the door with a jolt that sent a thrill through her and Tom’s body pressed in against her at once, warm and solid, so good that it made her stomach twist. Her arms snaked up around his neck and she tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him down to her, kissing him back as hard as she could as her thoughts careened away. He could not get any closer but she wanted him to. Her entire body felt electric and hot as his lips moved against hers insistently, fervently, with an unrelenting pressure that she met in kind. Every one of her senses was screaming about him and there was room for nothing else in her head but the addictive smell of him, the heat of his mouth, the feeling of pushing her fingers through the thick, soft waves of his dark hair –

They suddenly broke apart and it was as if Marina had returned to consciousness, suddenly aware that she was panting like she’d been on a run, heart thundering in her chest and her cheeks aflame. Tom was looking down at her with something burning in his eyes, breathing hard, his hands still cupping her face and his long fingers in her hair. Marina stared up at him, half stunned and half hungry for more.

Tom blinked almost languidly, and he slowly leaned in again. He gently pressed his lips against hers, deliciously hot, unbearably soft, and she couldn’t stop the somewhat obscene sound it drew from her. Tom’s breath audibly hitched as he pulled away, his eyes tightly shut as he leaned his forehead on hers again.

“Marina,” he said lowly. Her heart stuttered – his voice had been transformed into something husky and wanting.

“Yeah?” she whispered.

“We should stop.”

“We should,” Marina smiled, tilting her head up to bring her lips just barely brushing his.

She couldn’t stop her smile from growing when he instantly leaned into it, and her arms tightened to draw him back into her, dazed at how good he felt. The kiss slowed but remained just as heated, and it sent something smouldering through her core that made her rather agree with him. They should stop. Marina pulled back, very much liking the way his eyes immediately flicked up to hers when she did so, liking the reluctance in them even more.

“Still think this is a bad idea?” she breathed cheekily.

Tom’s mouth curled into a half smirk and his head cocked to the side a bit. “I never said that I didn’t want to.”

Marina laughed softly and brought her hands to his face too, still in a bit of a daze that she was apparently allowed to do that now. Her fingertips brushed across his skin half in wonder, half in the insatiable desire to touch him, and Marina slowly leaned forward to gently press her lips to his cheek. It was a strangely intimate gesture that made her suddenly worried that she’d overstepped somehow, and she pulled away to check his reaction.

_Was that too… I dunno… romantic?_

Tom just looked at her, his expression deepened somehow like something had shifted behind his composure but it hadn’t quite reached the surface. She couldn’t tell how it had made him feel.

“Well thanks for coming back,” Marina said humorously, breaking the moment just to be safe.

He rolled his eyes. “You can’t go five minutes without making some dreadful attempt at a joke, can you?” he said dryly, placing his hands against the door on either side of her head and pushing himself back so he could look at her properly.

“No,” Marina snorted, “and don’t say _dreadful_ , no one’s said that in about a hundred years and it makes you sound geriatric.”

“Well according to my date of birth, I am seventy one,” he smirked.

“According to _my_ date of birth I’m two, so nothing weird about this,” Marina grinned playfully. 

Tom shook his head slowly, smiling wryly. He leaned down towards her again but to her immense disappointment, he seemed to catch himself. “If I kiss you again I don’t think I’ll leave,” he said quietly, watching her.

“Do you promise?” smirked Marina, pushing off the door and stepping in as she laced her arms around his neck again.

Tom’s hands dropped from the door at once, one sliding up the small of her back and drawing her closer as the other gently rested against the back of her head. He leaned down to meet her lips – but again he hesitated.

Marina waited, not understanding what was making him hold back but very much not wanting to push him.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

She frowned. “About what?”

There was something very careful and cautious in his eyes as he assessed her. “About me,” Tom said evenly.

Marina laughed. “Of course I am.”

His gaze did not move, and he let out a quiet, strangely tense breath. Marina frowned again.

“Are you?” she asked curiously.

Tom drew back a centimetre like she’d shocked him. “Am I sure about you?” he asked blankly.

“Yeah.”

He was silent a moment as he looked back at her, and she suddenly wondered if she’d regret asking.

“Yes,” Tom said quietly, an amused smile budding on his lips. “I’m sure.”

He huffed his little laugh, tilting his head down and resting against her forehead again. She was quickly realising that he seemed to like being like that, as if just being that close was enough.

“What?” Marina nudged him.

“Nothing,” he said evenly, closing his eyes.

Marina peered up at him, somewhat confused – but her gaze lingered on the shadows under his eyes and the fatigue set into his face. “You’re tired,” she said, gently resting her hands against his cheeks.

Tom hummed quietly.

“Stay with me tonight,” Marina said softly.

His eyes cracked open and he arched a brow, looking very amused.

“Not – not like –” Marina stuttered, dropping her hands and knowing she was blushing. “I just meant –”

“I know what you meant,” he smirked. “You’re very easy to fluster, you know.”

“Great,” she grumbled, pushing him lightly as she stepped back. “Well go on then, back to Fred and George’s smelly gunpowder room that would blow up the house if you dropped a match near the wrong box –”

Tom closed the unwelcome distance between them with a single step, one hand slipping around her waist and pulling her in again, his other gently guiding her face up to his as he leaned down. He caught her lips in a kiss that wiped the rest of her quip from her mind and Marina’s hands flattened against his chest – it was suddenly very hard to remember exactly why she’d been ribbing him the first place.

Tom pulled away slowly, the kiss soft enough to linger. Marina stared at him, somewhat entranced.

“I wasn’t refusing,” he murmured against her lips.

She just nodded, slid her hands up behind his neck, and pulled him back in.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina awoke very warm and very sleepy, noticing at once that something was different. It took her a moment to realise what it was, and her eyes quickly opened in surprise. The room was bright. The sun was already up. She had slept the entire night (and a good part of the morning by the looks of it) for the first time in about four months.

There was a slight sound next to her and she looked around at once.

Her heart thudded hard.

Tom was asleep beside her, half of his face consumed by the pillow beneath him, his breathing soft and even, and his dark hair in sleepy tousled waves that made her want to reach out and touch him. One of his arms was slung across her waist and the other lay beneath her neck, her head resting on his shoulder. Some immense emotion filled her at the sight of him, though she wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Marina just looked at him a long moment.

It was surreal – Tom had been gone for so long that seeing him at all still felt impossible, let alone Tom like this. He had been so tense and serious for so long now; dealing with their failure to find what they’d sought from Herpo, the weeks of searching beforehand, going back and forth from Malfoy Manor... her memory of seeing him there at Voldemort’s side. Even before that when he was younger, all angry and bitter and scared, suspicious and reserved, collapsing after he reclaimed each Horcrux, seeing him hollowed out in St Mungo’s afterwards. She could still see the shadow of it all across him, though perhaps it was because she’d been there with him through it and couldn’t quite erase the image of his face bloodied and white, or cold and blank, or taut and disappointed.

Then again, Marina thought, not seeing that shadow would have very much cheapened the juxtaposition of the sight of him like this, utterly relaxed, sleeping quietly beside her, his arms around her warm and heavy, the memory of kissing him making her stomach flutter. They had not stayed awake long the previous night, falling into bed in a sort of fatigued haze and passing out quickly with tangled limbs, seeming too comfortable to be true.

The same indescribable feeling welled in her again, and she turned to him fully.

“Tom,” Marina said quietly.

He didn’t stir.

She lifted her hand and brushed his hair off to the side of his forehead and then lightly traced her fingers down his cheek, still in awe that she could touch him that way. “Tom,” she murmured.

His dark blue eyes slowly opened. For a moment he just looked at her, and Marina’s brain traitorously threw out the sudden fear that he might say that he regretted kissing her the previous night and ask them to forget all about it –

But then Tom’s arms were closing in around her, gradually pulling her to him until their bodies were flush. He pressed his lips against hers softly, lazily, and Marina felt like she was melting into warmth, feeling borderless in his arms. When he gently broke the kiss, his eyes stayed closed and he took a long, deep breath, looking to be going back to sleep.

“We need to get up,” Marina said around her smile, something fluttering happily in her chest.

Tom hummed, but made no indication that he had any intention of moving in the slightest.

“It’s late, Tom.”

“How late?” he murmured.

“Like, mid morning.”

Tom opened his eyes, clearly surprised. He looked up at the window and then rolled away to reach for his wand on the bedside table. He rapped it smartly against the wood and silvery numbers emerged from its tip reading 9:47. He set his wand down and collapsed back onto the bed with an exhale.

“It has been some time since I’ve slept so long,” Tom said drowsily, lifting his hand to his face.

“Same,” Marina admitted.

Tom looked at her, and she thought perhaps they were thinking the same thing.

“Well,” she said a bit too loudly, knowing she was blushing as she sat up and stretched her arms above her head. “I have to go feed the pigs, Mrs Weasley’s not going to be happy I left it so late already –”

“Wait,” said Tom quickly, pushing himself up onto his forearm.

Marina glanced back at him, surprised. “Yeah?”

He just looked up at her, an unexpectedly alarmed expression on his face which (her heart lurched again) had little red creases pressed into it from where he’d been lying on the pillow.

“Tom,” she said gently, propping her hand on the bed behind her. “What is it?”

But still he hesitated, his brows drawing together and his eyes darting between hers. She could see that something was getting to him, but he did not want to say it. Or, Marina thought, perhaps he didn’t know _how_ to say it.

She turned fully and slowly leaned down to him, still unaccustomed to the ease at which she could close the distance between them after so long trying to pretend that she didn’t want to. Marina kissed him very softly as her free hand came up to rest against his cheek, enjoying his gentle, though somewhat reserved reciprocation and the strange calmness that came over her. She just barely drew back, letting their foreheads touch in the way he seemed to like. Tom was looking up at her with a strikingly vulnerable expression that she’d never seen on his face before.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

He swallowed hard, frowning slightly. “I don’t want this to end yet,” he said very quietly.

“End?” Marina repeated, drawing back a bit in confusion.

“Surely you must have noticed that I can be called away at any time,” Tom continued, barely above whisper. He lifted his hand and lightly carded his fingers into her hair, sending tingles across her scalp and down her spine. “And when I leave, I cannot know when I will be back… or if I will be back at all.”

Marina frowned too, disliking the idea greatly – but she finally understood what was bothering him. “You’re worried this’ll be a one time thing?” she asked curiously.

He nodded, and she shivered as his fingers pushed into her hair again and he rested the heel of his palm on her cheek. “Rather unhelpfully exacerbated by the fact that I am still half expecting you to say that you’ve changed your mind,” Tom said softly, eyes travelling across her face almost thoughtfully.

She snorted in amusement, and he arched a brow rather reproachfully at her response.

“Sorry,” Marina grinned. “It’s just – I was thinking the same thing before. That you might have changed your mind, I mean.”

Tom looked at her blankly for a moment, and then he was pulling her down against his lips, kissing her in that slow, hot way that made her immediately forget what they’d been talking about. A hunger for him overwhelmed her and she leaned into the kiss deeply, feeling something shift between them at once as she did so, as if the floor had suddenly vanished and they’d started freefalling. Tom’s arms were around her in a second and butterflies exploded in her stomach as he turned her, effortlessly guiding her backwards down onto the bed and pressing down from over her. Marina twisted her hands in his hair, blinded by the fire coursing across her skin as Tom’s lips moved against hers with smooth pressure and wonderful intent, his forearms holding himself over her but enough of his weight pressing on her to make her thoughts swirl dangerously. She very reluctantly broke the kiss, immediately hating herself for it.

“Tom,” she said breathlessly.

He drew back at once to look at her. The butterflies returned with a vengeance – Tom’s eyes had gone near black, only the faintest rim of dark blue still visible, and her attentions had left his hair even more mussed than before. It was deeply unfair, how stupidly attractive he was. Marina felt her logical brain (telling her to get the fuck out of bed now before things got out of control) start losing out against every other part of her (telling her to absolutely let things get out of control).

“We… should…” she started, her words immediately flickering out because he was leaning down to her again – but not to her mouth.

Tom gently pressed his lips just under her jawline and Marina’s eyes fell shut as a feeling like glitter broke across her skin. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair in the slightest. How was she supposed to be responsible and pull away and get up and go start her endless list of chores when Tom’s lips were travelling down her neck like that, warm and soft, slow and insistent? When she felt them curve into a smirk at her audible and very obvious response to his touch? When he gently, _gently_ pressed his teeth against her skin, sending a wave of that same glittering heat across her and making her gasp?

“Tom,” she tried again, squeezing her eyes shut and trying very hard to focus.

His lips didn’t leave her skin as he hummed in response. Marina forced herself to exhale, but it came out more like another gasp.

“I’m serious, we should get up,” she stammered – though even as she spoke, her treacherous fingers were curling in his dark hair.

Tom laughed, a breath that she felt brush warm on her as he very softly bit down again, unbelievably delicate, making her lean reflexively up into him. “I’m not stopping you,” he said against her skin, smirk audible.

“You know you are,” she whispered.

He pulled away, and Marina’s breath caught again at the heat in his eyes as he looked down at her. “Do you want me to stop?” Tom asked quietly, eyes flicking between hers.

“What I want is a very different matter,” Marina huffed weakly, “what I’m saying is, we need to get downstairs before Mrs Weasley charges in here herself to yell at me about the pigs. Last time I was this late, they got sick of waiting for food and broke out of their pen to rip up the orchard.”

Tom nodded, but a crease was appearing between his brows and his hand had come to rest almost possessively against her cheek beneath him. Suddenly, Marina remembered what they’d been talking about before she’d been wholly distracted.

“Hey,” she smiled, not liking how serious he looked. “Don’t worry, we’ve got all of today, right? And tonight, and some of tomorrow, and the next time you’re back, too. It’s not gonna be a one time thing.”

But he didn’t look particularly comforted by this, something going tight in his jaw and his brow furrowing deeper.

The memory of how he’d looked when he’d first woken up taunted her, and Marina wished that they really could set aside the whole world and everything in it for a bit. She wanted to linger in this strange liminal space where Tom didn’t have to go stand at Voldemort’s side tomorrow, where he didn’t have to figure out a way to get to Nagini or Hufflepuff’s cup or Harry himself, where he wouldn’t have to let himself be killed after everything they’d been through. She wanted to go back to Tom being warm and relaxed, sleepily drawing her to him to slowly kiss her, nothing but the faintest shadow of it all on his face as she softly touched him.

Some deep sadness swelled in her and Marina leaned up and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him as hard as she dared. Almost immediately Tom’s arms were around her too, and he laid them both down as she just buried her face against his neck and closed her eyes. She heard him let go of a very tense breath, his arms tight around her body.

A date came to Marina’s mind, something from the back of her memory – _May 2 nd 1998\. _That was the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, wasn’t it? If things were going at least roughly like they had in the book, that was when things finally came to an end, right? When Harry finally faced Voldemort? When he was at long last defeated?

May 2nd.

It was March 1st.

There was a solid chance that Tom would be dead in two months.

His words from the previous night came back to her. _‘I will still have to die,’_ he had said. _‘This would not change that.’_

Marina’s arms tightened and she forced herself to breathe deeply, trying to let the way Tom filled up all her senses wash away her horrible thoughts and their relentless reality. Perhaps he was right and this wouldn’t change his fate, but as she felt Tom’s fingers lace into her hair and hold her to him, she knew that it had already made it much, much harder.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  We did it team.... only took 40 fucking chapters....  
>  And hey, I warned you that there would be some salaciousness ;)  
>  AND WOW thank you very much for 10 000 hits?? That's insane?? Not to mention all the support and comments, you guys... honestly... I am blown away. Thank you so, so much.  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	41. Voldemort's Command

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **“MORNING,” CHARLIE SAID** slowly, grinning at Marina as she came down the stairs.

She glared at him. “Not a word,” she muttered, pointing at him threateningly as she seized the bucket of scraps by the bench.

“About what?” he asked innocently, taking a swig from his mug.

Marina narrowed her eyes at him and pulled on the gumboots lying by the door. “You know very well what I mean,” she grumbled.

“Course I don’t,” Charlie smirked, “oh – unrelated side note, but I think I’ll stop wasting my precious time making beds in Fred and George’s room since I have a feeling no one’s actually going to be sleeping in there anymore –”

Marina threw open the kitchen door and sped off across the yard, acutely aware of how hot her cheeks felt. She dragged out feeding the pigs for as long as she could but horrifically, Charlie’s smirk was still in place when she returned.

“You’re up rather late today,” said Charlie very casually.

“You’re lazing around as usual,” Marina countered pointedly, nodding at his leisurely late-morning coffee as she set the bucket back down.

“Didn’t sleep well?” he continued with a wide grin, smugness rendering him impervious to her deflection attempts. “Or perhaps, not much at all?”

“Charlie,” Marina deadpanned with an admonishing look, kicking off the gumboots.

There were footsteps on the stairs and they both turned to see Tom pulling down his jumper as he stepped into the kitchen. His hair had been slightly mussed from the motion and Marina couldn’t quite draw her gaze away from him as he straightened his collar, cheeks rather warm again.

“Oh hello, Tom,” Charlie said very airily, leaning back in his seat and looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.

Tom briefly met Marina’s eyes and seemed to clock her exasperation at once. “Good morning, Charlie,” he said very smoothly, an amused smile flickering slightly on his lips.

“Just friends, huh?” Charlie asked wryly, having entirely too much fun with the situation.

“Well,” Marina said loudly, striding off across the kitchen towards escape. “I’m going to go find Mrs Weasley – I’m sure she had something she’d like me to do –”

She marched past Tom with averted eyes before climbing the stairs two at a time. Almost as if in balance to Charlie’s relentless quips, Mrs Weasley made no comment about Tom and Marina’s sleeping arrangements – though she did keep giving them very soft looks whenever they were in the same room which inspired Marina to tackle some of the more challenging chores out in the garden that she’d been avoiding for weeks.

As she battled with the tightly bound fronds of the Flitterbloom bush trying to take over the strangled lemon tree, an idea had taken root in her head – and it was proving just as difficult to dislodge. When she returned to the house an hour later, she found Tom sitting at the kitchen table leaning attentively over Mrs Weasley’s clock with his wand in hand, attempting to get the thing working again.

“Hey,” she frowned as she sat opposite him and looking down at her dirt-smeared hands.

He looked up, his eyes travelling across her face and taking in her expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked evenly.

She exhaled. “Look, I need you to not be stupid for a second.”

Tom's brow arched. “Only for a second?” he asked dryly.

“I think we should break into Gringott’s,” Marina said bluntly.

Tom was silent for a long moment, his expression unchanging as he looked at her.

“That is an absolutely terrible idea,” he said in an utterly deadpan tone.

“How else are we going to get Hufflepuff’s cup?” she retorted, leaning forward. “Listen, I think it’s worth –”

“Marina,” Tom interrupted, looking back down at the clock. “Goblins are significantly more observant than Dementors, they won’t be fooled by a Death Eater mask and some black robes –”

“What about Polyjuice potion?” she interrupted right back, feeling a bit annoyed at his reluctance to even entertain the idea.

“Do you have some Polyjuice potion?” asked Tom very dubiously, glancing up at her.

“No – but – when we stole the diary from the Malfoys, I got a hair off Narcissa,” she said quickly. “Before everything went to shit, we were planning on using it to get into Gringott’s – Dumbledore probably put it somewhere safe, right? I don’t see why we couldn’t just brew some Polyjuice potion and use it now to –”

“Resembling Narcissa might get you through the front door, but it will not get you into Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault,” Tom said evenly, wand dancing across the complicated network of burnished cogs and strangely-shaped contraptions on the inside of the clock. “For that you would need her key as proof that she ordained the access.” He glanced up at her again, this time rather wryly. “And unless you also managed to purloin that whilst at Malfoy Manor and simply neglected to mention it until now –”

“Then how do we get the cup?” Marina demanded.

He did not respond, eyes fixed on the clock as he worked at it.

“Tom,” she prompted sharply.

He let a hard breath out through his nose and looked up at her, expression agitated. “I am very aware of how the Horcruxes would have been dealt with had you not intervened, Marina,” he said. “I am also aware that Harry Potter and his friends have been missing for months following secret orders from Dumbledore. It is not difficult to draw a possible connection between the two.”

Marina gaped at him a moment. “Are you trying to imply that Dumbledore told Harry to hunt down and destroy the remaining Horcruxes before he died?”

Tom’s jaw was tight and his eyes hard as he responded. “Perhaps. A part of my soul lies in Harry Potter as we speak, and Dumbledore knew that it must be destroyed by the Dark Lord if Harry is to survive their eventual confrontation,” he said, voice deceptively even. “That would dictate that my soul will still be incomplete even if I managed to reclaim the fragment in Hufflepuff’s cup. It will make very little difference to my fate if it is destroyed instead.”

“So you’re not even going to bother trying to get it?” Marina asked disbelievingly. “Are you serious?”

“They managed to extract it from Gringott's in your version of events, did they not?” he asked coolly. “Considering that you've told me yourself that things are progressing much the same, is it so unreasonable to assume that they will be able to do the same now? The insurmountable risk of what you’re suggesting is not worth the rather meagre reward.”

“You’re being stupid,” she said sharply. “I expressly told you not to be stupid.”

“How exactly do you propose we break into the vault, then?” Tom retorted tensely, so agitated that he lowered his wand from the clock and leaned back in his chair. “Would you have me show my face and imply that I’m on business for the Dark Lord again? I doubt he will take kindly to hearing that I have been using my position to surreptitiously gain access to my fellow Horcruxes against his express orders –”

“I don’t know yet, but we could at least try to think of something without totally dismissing it!” Marina said loudly.

“Gringott’s is one of the most heavily guarded and monitored buildings in the entire wizarding world,” said Tom, voice low and vehement, “but even if we _did_ have the knowledge and means to fool its defences, there are still other obstacles that render your plan unfeasible. Gringott’s may have escaped relatively unscathed from the Dark Lord’s influence, but he by no means lacks allies there. If you and I so much as enter the place, the Dark Lord would know within seconds, _even if –”_ he swiftly raised his hand as Marina opened her mouth to interrupt, “ – you resembled Narcissa. She is herself under close scrutiny, and not normally found in my company. It would still be incredibly suspicious.”

“Well how about I go alone? Or you take the potion and you go?” Marina suggested quickly, though she knew it was futile.

“We still do not have Bellatrix’s key,” Tom continued with a horrible patience, “and Goblins are not exactly famous for their trusting dispositions. They would accept nothing less, especially during current times.”

“Can we get her key, then?” Marina pressed.

“Marina, you are not listening,” Tom said through gritted teeth. “Even in the hypothetical situation where we attain her key, we would have to come up with a way to assuage the inherent suspicion of Narcissa Malfoy suddenly trying to access her sister’s vault in her absence, somehow fool the myriad of other security measures that Gringott’s has in place, find and locate the Horcrux within Bellatrix’s vault when she is bound to have her own host of defences, _and_ somehow escape undetected. Not to mention that using Polyjuice potion would require us to accomplish all of this within a strict time limit.”

“But –” Marina attempted, but Tom was relentless.

“And even if your plan succeeds and we reclaim the cup, do you suppose that Gringott’s will not contact Bellatrix about her sister’s mysterious request to access her vault? That she will not immediately deduce that an imposter has managed to find their way inside? That the Dark Lord will not know of it as soon as she does? His suspicion surpasses even that of the Goblins themselves, and it would only be a matter of time before he would know that his Horcrux had been targeted. Even in the best case scenario, going after the cup still changes nothing for me – and in reality, it will only worsen our circumstances. It may as well simply be destroyed.”

 _“Alright!”_ Marina exclaimed hotly, glaring at him.

Tom finally fell silent, jaw tight as he met her gaze.

“I _get_ it, fucking hell,” she continued acidly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms.

A very tense silence pervaded the table.

“So that’s it, then?” Marina asked bluntly. “We’re not even trying to get the cup?”

He only looked at her.

“And Nagini?” she continued recklessly. “What about her?”

Tom sighed tersely. “If I reclaim the soul from her, I fear that the Dark Lord’s rather unusually strong mental connection with her will be altered in some way,” he said carefully. “In addition, I highly doubt that she would keep my actions a secret, meaning that he would know that –”

Marina exclaimed in frustration. “What are we even doing, then?” she bit out, gesturing wildly with one hand. “Waiting around for shit to hit the fan? For Harry to show up and start slinging spells at You-Know-Who so we know the final showdown’s about to begin?”

Tom’s eyes flashed. “I had assumed that you were being facetious when you made your comments about me _swanning around Malfoy Manor_ ,” he said scathingly, “but let me assure you that I am, in fact, rather preoccupied with investigating anything I can pertaining to Horcruxes without raising the alarm. There is very little _waiting around_ involved.”

“Weird then, how it seems like you’ve already given up,” Marina said rashly.

Tom stood swiftly, sending the chair scraping back a loud few inches across the floor. “I am being realistic, Marina,” he said through a clenched jaw, his eyes burning. “You might want to start following my lead.”

“I’m not just going to lie down and let you die!” she exclaimed angrily. “We have to do _something –”_

“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” Tom interrupted bluntly, looking away.

“What do you mean by that?” she said at once, feeling something hot roil in her chest.

“I told you last night that things between us could not, and would not change my fate,” he said coolly, eyes fixed on some inscrutable point in the far corner of the kitchen. “I should have known that it was a mistake to –”

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Marina abruptly standing herself, sending her own chair sliding back noisily. The hot feeling flooding her chest had been joined by a cutting wave of hurt and she stared at him, heart pounding, holding back furious tears. Tom’s expression faltered slightly as he seemed to realise the implications of what he had said, but she was already out the kitchen door and into the garden.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

He came to find her where she was sitting on the fence at the bottom of the hill a good hour later, approaching without a word and standing silently behind her, waiting.

Marina took a long breath, staring at the countryside. “Sorry for running off,” she muttered without looking around.

“It’s alright,” Tom replied evenly.

Marina rested her chin on her bent knee and fiddled with the laces of her sneaker propped on the post she was sitting on as Tom came closer, leaning back against the fence beside her.

“Marina, you knew that this would be the most likely outcome,” he said softly.

“If you’re asking me to be okay with you dying, it’s not going to happen,” she frowned, twisting her laces around her finger again and again, “and it would be mighty stupid of you to ask that of me in the first place.”

In her peripheral vision she saw Tom looked back up towards the Burrow, heard his weary sigh of exasperation, and she anticipated his reply by cutting him off before he could even get started.

“I get what you’re saying,” Marina said firmly, closing her eyes and willing her voice to stay even. “I get it. I know the logic behind it. I know we can’t just prance into Gringott’s as Narcissa Malfoy, or pull a fast one with Nagini, or put Harry on the chopping block in your place – I get that, I really do.” She paused, trying to collect herself. “I know how things are… likely to go,” she managed to get out, voice going horribly thick.

Tom had gone both very quiet and very still.

“But you can’t ask me to be okay with it,” Marina finished quietly, finally daring to look at him. “You can’t.”

Tom’s eyes were already on her, dark and heavy, a slight frown on his face as he watched her speak. There was something in his expression that struck her hard and Marina felt the same indescribable feeling she’d been overcome with that morning well up in her. For all her avoiding looking at him, she was suddenly quite unable to look away.

Tom seemed to hesitate a moment longer, and then he was slowly leaning in towards her, gaze slightly curious almost like he was checking for her reaction. Marina could only watch him draw closer, her eyes falling shut when she felt his hand come up and lightly cup her face. His lips were on hers the next second, soft and warm, so gentle that it made her chest ache. After a slow moment he pulled away, but only just.

“Marina…” he frowned, eyes downturned, “I did not mean to imply that I regret last night, I shouldn’t have said –”

But Marina had other ideas. She reached out and seized a fistful of his shirt, tugging him back in. Tom’s other hand was against her cheek in an instant, stepping closer as Marina leaned heavily into the kiss. She pushed herself around to face him properly and laced her arms around his neck, drawing him closer so that he was in front of her, trying to banish their conversation from her thoughts and replace it only with how Tom felt, the way her stomach swooped as his lips moved against hers, the heady, stupidly good way he smelled, his hands against her face and in her hair, his hips between her knees –

_May 2 nd. _

Marina broke the kiss, her heart thudding painfully as her head fell. “You promised me you’d try,” she said quietly.

Tom’s hands gently but resolutely lifted her face, and Marina met his eyes to find him tense again. “I am,” he said vehemently. “But I will not waste our efforts on a futile endeavour that will bring more harm than good.”

Marina took another deep breath, willing herself to not cry. “I know you’re right –”

“Of course I am,” Tom said dismissively.

She snorted despite herself. “As I was _saying,_ I know you’re right, but it feels like you’re saying that there’s nothing we can do.”

“There's nothing _we_ can do, Marina,” he said quietly, his head tilting to the side a bit. “There may be plenty for _me_ to do, but you cannot help me this time.”

She stared at him.

Tom smiled slightly, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “You have done enough already,” he said as Marina battled to keep her eyes from falling shut at his touch. “Far more than you ever needed to do.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Marina managed to say, barely above whisper.

“You saved my life,” he said evenly.

She felt her breath catch in her throat. The memory of Tom on the floor of the café in 1948 struck her hard. “Only the once,” Marina mumbled with a weak shrug.

“I think you and I both know that it was more than once,” said Tom, his gaze very measured as he looked down at her.

Marina pressed her lips together. “If you’re talking about taking back the Horcruxes, you did that yourself,” she said, having to look away from him and the heaviness in the way he was looking at her. “Me yelling at you to be nicer wouldn’t have made much difference if you hadn’t actually listened.”

Tom huffed a laugh. “That is certainly an interesting way of surmising what you did, I must say.”

“It’s effectively what happened,” she smiled ruefully.

He leaned in closer, halting just before her lips and making Marina’s heart give a slightly concerning flutter. “My memory of it is quite different,” he murmured.

“What do you remember?” she asked, barely managing to get her voice out of a whisper.

“I remember the first time you wrote in my diary,” Tom said quietly.

Marina frowned in surprise. It hadn’t been what she’d expected.

“That you were a Muggle was effectively the first thing I knew about you,” he continued in the same tone, “I confess, back then there was nothing further that I considered worth knowing – I didn’t take you particularly seriously until you confronted me about my future.”

“Oh really?” she snorted. “What a huge surprise.”

“Yes, thank you,” he said crisply, “I am aware that I used to be somewhat…”

“A dick?” Marina smirked.

“The point I’m trying to make,” he continued hotly, “is that I know that even though I made things difficult for you, you were invariably relentless in the face of Dumbledore’s scepticism that I was even worth the effort.”

Marina’s smirk fell.

“I think it fair to say that had you not been there to intervene, he would have destroyed the diary the first moment that he suspected that I was not being fully sincere in my conduct,” Tom finished, his expression almost thoughtful. “That counts as you saving my life, does it not?”

There was a strange cocktail of emotions in Marina’s chest. “I – I suppose –”

“For that matter, if you had not been there, I would have remained a Horcrux to be destroyed on the path to defeat the Dark Lord,” said Tom very evenly.

“Not exactly,” Marina said sheepishly. “You got stabbed by a twelve-year-old in the Chamber of Secrets, it wasn’t really as grand as a Horcrux hunt back then.”

Tom gave her a very dry look. “Regardless,” he said, “I think we can agree that it was more than once.”

She frowned, staring at the Burrow on the hill behind him. “Let’s see if I can add another to the list,” she muttered.

He lifted her face again, making her meet his eyes. “Marina, you have done enough,” he repeated quietly. “It is not fair to call what you have done saving my life. Were it not for you, I would not have truly lived at all.”

A breath fell from her like a great weight had been placed on her chest, and Marina pulled him towards her to kiss him again.

 _May 2 nd, _her thoughts said.

 _Fuck off,_ she told them, sliding her hands into Tom’s hair and kissing him harder.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

He left the next morning, so early that Marina barely had time to wake up before he was gone. She knew why he’d done it – if he’d stayed long enough for her to properly wake up, it would have been that much harder to leave. It still stung.

The Burrow was quiet that day, and the day after that, too. In fact, things remained quiet until Tom returned at the end of the week, upon which quietness was abruptly banished.

It was just past midnight but Marina was still awake, sitting in the lounge with _Fantastic Beasts_ sipping tea from the mug Tom had given her when, with the crisp _snap_ that she had come to associate with Tom Apparating, he was suddenly in front of her by the fireplace. Whatever excitement or relief she might have felt at his appearance was immediately replaced by panic as Tom collapsed heavily against the mantelpiece, seeming barely able to hold himself upright.

Marina was on her feet and beside him in an instant, her heart lurching horribly as she caught sight of him – Tom’s face was gaunt and pale, and his eyes unnervingly distant.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, scanning him for any sign of injury as her hands went out to stabilise him.

“Nothing,” Tom said sharply, not looking at her as he turned out of her reach to face the mantel, his hands gripping it hard.

She dropped her hands, trying not to feel stung. “Tom,” she said very sceptically.

“I am perfectly fine,” he snapped, jaw tight as he closed his eyes and dipped his head. He gave a long, aggravated sigh somewhere between annoyance and exhaustion.

Marina hesitated, torn between following his obvious appeal to be left alone and her mounting concern. As she stared at his profile, at the tense, agitated lines of his posture and the hard line of his mouth, her decision was made. She reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Tom,” Marina said again, much more gently.

He opened his eyes. A second later, he lifted his head and looked at her – but she could read nothing in his expression. Her unease only grew.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

Tom was silent, steadily holding her gaze but conceding nothing. Just when Marina was about to relent and prompt him again, he suddenly reached out to her and drew her to him, arms wrapping too tightly around her in a way that that made her frown with worry.

“Hey,” she said in concern, returning his embrace. He only gave another long breath, sounding just as tense. “Tom, what –”

“Later,” he muttered as he rested his forehead against her hair.

Marina couldn’t see his expression, but he suddenly sounded far more towards the exhausted side of the spectrum than annoyed. She sighed tensely, suppressing her desire to question him further. “Alright,” she mumbled, pressing her face against his chest.

He didn’t tell her until they were upstairs, Marina very nearly asleep when he suddenly spoke.

“The Dark Lord forbade me from ever killing anyone when he first met me,” Tom said quietly into the darkness of the room.

Marina opened her eyes. She was lying beside him with her head on his shoulder, and even though she could barely make him out, she looked up at his face.

“I think he fears that I might create a Horcrux of my own,” Tom continued, his tone a perfectly constructed thoughtful curiosity as he stared up at the ceiling, “that I might grow ambitious myself and attempt to usurp him. One can only imagine how his paranoia might grapple with that possible chain of events.”

Marina stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. His arm lay beneath her waist, but he was utterly still. Something in the way that he wasn’t drawing her to him made her think that perhaps it was just time to listen.

“But regardless of how convenient it is for me that he not expect me to commit murder alongside him, he still requires that I… prove myself to him,” said Tom, terribly calm, “demonstrate my loyalty, and my obedience. Sometimes he commands that I conduct his interrogations, or enact his punishments upon those who have displeased him.”

Marina’s eyes widened.

“He asked me to do so today,” Tom said in the same tone, “he brought someone to the Manor who supposedly had knowledge on whatever he is so desperately searching for, but…” Tom swallowed hard, the first crack in his detached air of composure. “I suspect that the boy did not really know anything of importance. The Dark Lord would never have had me partake in the interrogation if there was any real possibility that something could have been revealed of his quest. It was just… for his amusement.”

“The boy?” Marina repeated very quietly.

Tom’s posture stiffened nearly imperceptibly. “He was a child,” he said softly. “Barely ten.”

Marina’s stomach dropped.

“He is dead now,” said Tom, just as calmly but with a noticeable hollow quality to his voice. “The Dark Lord murdered him once he supposedly decided that the boy had nothing of import to reveal, though it took a number of hours for him to arrive at that conclusion.”

Marina pushed herself up onto her forearm, trying to see him in the moonlit room. Although his expression was hidden by the darkness, she could tell that he was looking at her too.

“Tom,” she said, horrified, unsure what the hell she could say.

He had grown strangely taut, his arm beneath her tense and unmoving like the rest of him.

Marina placed a hand on his cheek, her chest tight with emotion. “Are you…” She swallowed, unable to finish. It felt like an incomprehensibly tactless move to ask if he was alright. “Jesus, that’s…”

“You’re not angry?” he asked quietly.

“Angry?” she repeated breathlessly, disbelievingly, “god, Tom, no – I –” She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and pulled him to her, resting her chin on the crown of his head as she held him tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she said hollowly. “That’s… I – I’m so sorry that you…”

As if a barrier had been broken, Tom finally moved, his arms closing tightly around her middle and his forehead pressing against her sternum as he breathed deeply again. Marina's fingers tangled into his hair, the horror of his story still hanging heavily over her heart.

“I don’t want you to go back there,” she whispered.

“I have to.” His voice was muffled against her chest, still even, still composed.

“I know,” she said tightly. “Don’t remind me.”

Tom only took another deep breath and she felt him relax, even as his arms around her waist held her tighter. The idea of him returning to the Manor was making her skin feel hot and her stomach turn. Was it worth it? Was he gaining enough from being at Voldemort’s side to warrant this kind of price? Her head was saying yes, that it was worth fighting for any chance they had at figuring out a way to draw the soul from Voldemort and delay Tom’s apparently inevitable descent into Limbo, that he might figure out something to do about Nagini without alerting Voldemort, that he could keep being their eyes and ears behind the Death Eater lines – but her heart felt sick.

“That feels very nice,” Tom murmured.

Marina blinked – she suddenly realised that she’d been absently carding her fingers through his hair for some time. “I better keep doing it, then,” she said quietly, resuming the motion.

Tom hummed, seeming like he might be falling asleep. Marina pressed her lips against his forehead and tried to keep her breathing even as she continued pushing her fingers through the waves of his hair. For now, for tonight at least he was here, away from it all. For now, that would have to be enough.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The next time Tom returned to the Burrow, Marina was almost expecting the worst. She heard Mrs Weasley’s loud, excited exclamation from downstairs and immediately dropped the box of books she was helping Charlie move to the attic onto his bed. She made it out the door and down the stairs at breakneck speed, nearly bowling straight into Tom who already had a foot up the bottom step.

“Are you alright?” Marina asked quickly, hands going to his face and assessing him anxiously.

He gave her a very tired smile and took another step – even though he was still on the one below her, he was already slightly taller than her. “Yes,” said Tom quietly, “I’m alright.”

She wasn’t entirely sure she believed it – he looked even more exhausted than usual. Marina pulled him into a hug that he immediately leaned into with a worryingly fatigued exhale, and she glanced over at Mrs Weasley in the lounge to find her looking equally concerned.

“You two take the afternoon off,” Mrs Weasley said with a good attempt at her usual, bustling tone as she waved her wand at the dishes from their morning tea on the coffee table, stacking them on top of each other in a precariously wobbling tower. “I’m sure you want to catch up – Charlie and I will manage plenty, Marina, don’t worry,” she added, seeing Marina open her mouth with a frown.

But mere seconds after Marina had gotten Tom over to the couch, he had already fallen asleep, his head on her lap and still in his horrible Death Eater robes. She nearly threw _Fantastic Beasts_ at Charlie when he came racing down the stairs making an almost impressive amount of noise – though to his credit, he froze when he caught sight of them.

“Oh, sorry,” Charlie said sheepishly as he crept down the last few stairs. “Merlin, he looks rough.”

Marina sighed. “I know,” she muttered, glancing down at Tom. The shadows under his eyes were worse, and he was drawn out and pale in a way that almost reminded her of how he’d looked after reclaiming a Horcrux. “I wish he wouldn’t go back there,” she said quietly, a decidedly bitter note in her voice.

Charlie sat down in the armchair next to her. “At least he has a place to come to get away from it at all,” he said seriously, “I imagine it would be a lot worse if he was stuck there all the time.”

“That’s true,” she conceded, absent-mindedly brushing Tom’s hair to the side off his forehead with gentle fingers.

“I’m glad you two finally stopped being idiots and figured things out,” Charlie said casually, leaning sideways in the chair and flinging his legs across the armrest. “Merlin’s beard, I could only take so much more of the staring…”

“I still haven’t forgiven you for showing him my calendar,” Marina smirked.

Charlie rolled his eyes dramatically. “Worked out in the end, didn’t it? Don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem is that he thought you were asking him if he was trying to get your girlfriend to cheat on you,” she said dryly.

“That’s still technically your fault,” he shrugged unaffectedly.

She snorted, and immediately glared at him. _“Don’t_ make me laugh, I don’t want to wake him up.”

“Considering you’ve decided to take the afternoon off to laze around cuddling with your boyfriend and left me to slave away making you dinner, I think I’ll very much do what I want,” Charlie grinned.

“You’re an asshole,” she said blandly, “Tom’s pretty obviously in dire need of some sleep –”

“Oh yeah, you’re being totally selfless right now,” he said sarcastically, winking at her. “You’re getting absolutely no enjoyment out of this at all.”

“Shut it,” Marina said fiercely – or at least, tried to say fiercely. Her smile really ruined the effect.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

A week later, Marina was awoken by the sounds of someone very carefully closing the door to Percy’s room. She listened, very much still half-asleep as Tom approached, just as careful in his movements as he laid down beside her. His arm slowly wrapped around her waist, his head falling onto her shoulder, and he let out a long, weary breath. She forced her eyes open and turned to look at him.

“Tom,” Marina said sleepily, snaking her arms around him and burying her face in his chest.

“You’re awake,” he said softly.

She nodded, very much losing the battle to keep her eyes open. “How long are you staying?” she murmured.

“Just tonight,” he said quietly, brushing back her hair and making her shiver slightly. “I have to leave before sunrise.”

Marina frowned in disappointment. Usually he stayed at least a day or two.

“Are you wearing my jumper?” Tom asked, sounding both surprised and amused.

“Oh, I forgot,” she mumbled drowsily, freeing her arms and starting to tug it off.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said quickly, “I wasn’t criticizing –”

“No, I don’t need it now,” Marina yawned, leaving the jumper behind her as she leaned back into him, pressing her face against the warmth of his body. “I’ve got the real thing.”

He laughed once, very softly.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The days grew slightly warmer and the frosts more mild as Easter crept closer, but a blustery breeze blew over the Burrow upon Ginny’s return for the holidays that made the windows tremble and the chimneypieces moan in the night. Marina barely slept, partly from the noise but mostly because Tom had not been back for more than a week.

Seeing the date tick over every morning on the Daily Prophet had become a form of self-flagellation, the knowledge of what was to come burning inside of her like a hot coal. She couldn’t avoid looking, but it made her sick to do so.

The owl arrived the following morning whilst they were having breakfast, nondescript and without ceremony. Charlie got up from beside Marina and mussed her hair as he passed her, dodging her retaliation as he reached for the letter and ripped it open.

“Who’s that, Charlie?” Mr Weasley called from where he was looking over the Prophet next to Ginny.

“Bill,” he said distractedly, eyes scanning the page. “He says he’s got something important to…”

Charlie trailed off. Marina, Ginny, and Mr and Mrs Weasley all looked around at him quizzically. Marina’s stomach twisted in anxiety when she saw his face – Charlie looked as pale and as horrified as she’d ever seen him.

“We need to get to Muriel’s, now,” Charlie said loudly, throwing down the letter on the table in front of his parents. “The Death Eaters caught Harry – they know Ron’s with him – they’ll be coming for us any minute.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Thank you for bearing with me during my little hiatus! I had a mean case of writer's block, and I find it's better to just slowly let it come back rather than forcing myself to write. Extra long chapter to make up for it ;)  
>  I've been really tossing up introducing further salaciousness into this story, I've never posted more adult content before. Let me know in a comment if you'd be into that or if things should remain as they are now, I'd honestly be cool with either (so long as I officially ban my sister from ever reading it again).  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	42. The Coming Wave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: literal sex. For the love of god please note that the rating has changed to M because I asked if you wanted smut and literally all of you (across all sites) were like YES._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·. ☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.* ═══╗

 **THE COFFEE SCALDED** her tongue and Marina winced, returning it to its saucer and taking the opportunity to look around the crowded café again. It had changed a lot since she’d been there in 1948 – the old-fashioned tables and chairs had long been discarded, and the interior had been painted a brilliant turquoise blue that contrasted jarringly with the black-and-white checkered tile floor. A metal rimmed benchtop had been set against the street-facing windows where Marina was perched with her coffee, people watching intently.

There hadn’t been time for much, but Marina hoped that Tom had gotten her message. Considering Muriel’s house was already under the Fidelius charm and she was hardly able to send a bloody owl straight to Malfoy Manor, there was no way for her to contact him if he hadn’t.

 _‘Billy,’_ she’d hastily scribbled on a scrap of parchment as Mrs Weasley had frantically waved her over to the fireplace. _‘48,’_ she’d added underneath, before crumpling up the parchment and leaving it inside the mug Tom had given her on the bench, darting away to join the others who were already vanishing in flashes of green flames. It was the only thing she’d been able to think of at the time.

It had been over a week since they’d crowded into Muriel’s narrow, very gaudily decorated London townhouse, immediately being subjected to Muriel’s indignant censure at their haphazard and unsolicited arrival. A week of sitting in the same café they’d taken Billy Stubbs nearly fifty years earlier, waiting. Marina made the half-hour walk from Muriel’s every morning to get there right before the café opened, and she left only when the waitress came over to tell her they were about to close. She’d sat there at the bench looking out onto the bustling London street, devouring book after book from Muriel’s library, writing and doodling on countless bits of parchment and napkins, consuming entirely too much caffeine through her perpetual sipping of hot drinks.

The bell on the door beside her chimed and Marina’s head whipped around – but it was only one of the other patrons leaving, holding his newspaper up over his head against the mild drizzle outside as he stepped onto the street. Marina sighed and looked back down at the book she was attempting to read, a very complex text about Alchemy that looked and read like it had been written in the sixteenth century – but that was what she liked about it. The fact that it was bordering on incomprehensible meant that it consumed almost her entire mental capacity to try to decipher it, drowning out the buzzing thoughts of her tired, anxious brain.

The days were passing torturously, and Marina did not use the term lightly. It was the 14th of April. As May grew nearer and she neither saw nor heard anything of Tom, her dread only continued to rise.

The bell tinkled again and she glanced up much more non-committedly as a group of cheery students entered. Marina watched them as they took their seats together at a table, shedding their scarfs and coats as they chattered with each other. It made her feel homesick, but she didn’t know why.

“Marina.”

Her heart stopped in her chest as she looked around swiftly. Standing in front of her, dressed in very non-conspicuous Muggle clothing that did absolutely nothing to diminish his strikingly handsome features, was Tom. His eyes were slightly wide as he looked at her, his hand still on the door which he held open as if frozen in place. Marina was out of her seat in an instant.

“You got it,” she said breathlessly, throwing her arms around him with great relief, her eyes closing as his arms wrapped around her in return and the door swung shut beside them with another loud tinkle from the little bell.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Tom said tersely, only barely returning her embrace. “If the Death Eaters had seen –”

“They wouldn’t know what I meant,” she mumbled dismissively into his chest.

Tom took her face in his hands and made her look at him. “Marina, you shouldn’t have done that,” he repeated, voice low and pressing, and his eyes hard. “You put both yourself and the Weasleys at risk for no reason.”

“For no reason?” Marina repeated, dumbfounded. “Are you joking?”

“I am not a good enough reason for you to endanger your life,” he whispered with visible agitation, pushing her back out of the way of the door to let people pass by them. “The Burrow had already been abandoned by the Death Eaters by the time I arrived, but if they had been less intent on destroying the place and had found your note –”

“Sorry,” she frowned, a little put out. “I didn’t really have a lot of time to –”

“You need to be more careful,” Tom interrupted curtly, looking around warily as if half-expecting Death Eaters to descend upon them that moment. “We should go. Now.”

Marina gaped at him, very taken aback by his brusque demeanour. “Where?” she asked, baffled.

Tom didn’t reply, he just wrenched the door open again and stiffly stood aside to let her through. Marina stared at him in bemusement for a second, then seized her jumper and the Alchemy book off the bench and stalked past him out into the drizzle. He followed close behind her, hand coming to rest on her back as he assertively guided her off down the street.

“Tom – where are we –”

“Keep your head down,” he muttered, not looking at her.

“Is someone watching us?” she asked, looking around the street in alarm.

“I don’t know,” replied Tom through gritted teeth.

He suddenly turned her into a small alley and not a second later Marina’s stomach dropped as he Apparated them away. The rainy London street twisted around them and disappeared, replaced by a room as familiar as it was strange.

It was broad and airy, thick with dust and the smell of mildew. Feeble sunlight struggled to make its way through dense ivy overgrowing the tall, cracked windows draped in moulding velvet curtains. The furniture scattered around the room was overturned or askew, but the pieces had obviously been handsome in their time, and Marina’s eyes fell upon a water-tarnished, dusty settee that looked like it had once been beautifully embroidered blue and yellow.

“Are we… in Riddle House?” she asked Tom, gobsmacked.

“The Dark Lord has long abandoned it,” Tom said tersely, drawing his wand from the pocket of his coat and turning away. “No one will come here.”

Marina narrowed her eyes as she watched him cast the wards, his lips a tight line. “Are you deadass annoyed at me?” she asked, irritated. After half a month of worrying about him, his behaviour was seriously rubbing her the wrong way.

He didn’t reply, but something worked in his jaw.

“What was I supposed to do, Tom?” Marina asked loudly, throwing the book and her jumper onto the settee. “Go into hiding and not have any way of contacting you?”

“Yes,” he snapped, rounding on her. “I can only assume that you and the others are somewhere under the Fidelius charm, the safest possible place for you to be – and you chose to jeopardise that for some ridiculous reason.”

Marina’s irritation grew. He did not, after all, appreciate exactly how close they were to the Battle of Hogwarts. “So sorry,” she said sarcastically, “it’s not like I haven’t spent the majority of the past four months wondering if I’ll ever see you again or anything –”

“Marina, if they catch you again they will kill you,” Tom said sharply, taking swift steps towards her. “Do you understand that? The Dark Lord would break your mind and kill you. Do you really expect me to be able to stand aside and watch him torture you to death?” he continued heatedly, gesturing in agitation. “Do you think that I could follow his orders if he asked me to do it myself?”

“But the alternative was –”

“I would rather never see you again than see you dead!” Tom shouted, exasperation finally spilling over.

Marina fell very still, but Tom wasn’t done.

“You cannot be so _reckless!_ I thought they’d taken you again! When I finally got to the Burrow and found it like that – I thought –” Tom broke off, pressing his lips together hard, his eyes flicking between hers all tense and frenetic.

Marina waited for a brief moment and then took a step towards him, lifting her hands to his face. He expression faltered as her palms gently rested against his jaw. “Hey,” she said softly, watching him carefully. “It’s alright, I'm fine, I –”

Tom’s arms came up around her and pulled her close, holding her very, very tightly. “Please don’t do that again,” he murmured, his fingers carding into her hair.

Marina didn’t really know exactly what he was referring to, leaving him the note, being reckless in general, or maybe just nearly being caught by Death Eaters in the first place – not that it was entirely within her control – but she nodded anyway. He took a long, tense breath, and Marina pulled back to look up at him.

“Are _you_ alright?” she asked him curiously.

Tom huffed a very weak laugh, raising his other hand to her cheek, grazing across her skin and making her feel warm and slightly dizzy. “I am now,” he said quietly.

“Oh, you _are_ happy to see me, huh?” Marina grinned playfully. “Geez, could have fooled me.”

“Don’t be cavillous, Marina,” said Tom, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck,” she whispered, shaking her head fondly. “I can’t believe it… I’ve actually _missed_ the way you use the most insane, overly esoterical words…”

“Would you like me to define that one for you?” he smirked at her.

“Jerk,” she snickered, before remembering something. “Hey – did you see what happened with Harry and the others at the Manor?”

“No, I was with the Dark Lord in Austria,” Tom said carefully, a frown slowly pulling his brows together. “They had already escaped by the time we arrived.”

“Austria?” she frowned, surprised.

“He commanded that I accompany him to Nurmengard to interrogate Grindelwald,” said Tom in the same tone, “and he had me join him to Hogwarts after he realised that the Death Eaters had let Harry slip through their fingers.”

“Why did he take you?”

“I believe he intended me to witness a demonstration of his power, flaunting the long-sought prize he intended to collect. Whether for self-aggrandisement or intimidation, I don’t know.” Tom said, watching her closely. “Marina – he broke into Dumbledore’s grave… and took his wand.”

Marina nodded sullenly, looking down.

“You knew,” Tom said quietly. She glanced up at him, surprised at his strangely reproachful tone. “You knew of the Elder wand months ago, I remember you mentioning it to me in jest when I first returned to the Burrow, though I didn't understand at the time…” he continued evenly. “You knew that he was looking for it this whole time.”

“Yes,” Marina said slowly, searching his expression.

Tom’s gaze was much too composed. “You didn’t tell me.”

Marina’s eyes narrowed again. “You’re the one always telling me to keep things like that to myself, Tom,” she said coolly. “Not going to pull a double standard on me now, are you?”

Tom gave a curt sigh through his nose, looking conflicted. “With the Elder wand he will be unstoppable,” he muttered.

“Oh, just like how he’s immortal?” Marina snorted. “He’s only unstoppable until he’s stopped, Tom, just like he’s only immortal until he’s dead.”

Tom was quiet for a moment, and then – to her surprise – laughed softly again. “I can’t believe it,” he said dryly, “I’ve actually missed the extemporaneous, overly idealistic way you see the world.”

“God, shut up,” she smirked.

Tom just leaned in and Marina’s breath caught as his lips suddenly covered hers, her mind going blank at the warmth of his mouth. She leaned up onto the balls of her feet, her arms around his neck pulling him closer, kissing him harder and hearing him take a heavy breath as she did so.

It wasn’t as if they’d stayed entirely platonic when he’d been coming to stay at the Burrow, but heat pooled in her stomach as Tom’s hands tilted her head to kiss her more deeply and she felt them slipping into decidedly dangerous territory. Feeling both very brave and very reckless, Marina gently brushed her tongue across his upper lip. Tom pulled back at once, staring down at her in surprise – but with a heat in his dark blue eyes that made her heart thud excitedly in her chest, hoping that it was an omen that very good things were about to happen to her.

She was correct. Tom surged forward, capturing her mouth with his, his arms around her as she kissed him back as hard as she could. She delved her hands into his hair, not holding back anymore, tracing his lips with her tongue and feeling a thrill when his met hers too, the dizzying shift away from control as waves of heat rolled across her body and –

Marina broke the kiss. “Tom,” she managed to say, a little out of breath. “This – should we – this house is…”

He just looked at her, his expression raw and open, the waves of his black hair mussed from her ravaging touch, heat in his dark eyes and his lips slick, a delicious warmth ever so slightly colouring his cheeks.

 _Fuck_.

Instantly defeated Marina leaned in and kissed him with such enthusiasm that he was pushed back a step, and she took advantage of the momentum to keep stepping forward until his back hit the wood-panelled wall behind them with a little thump, a breath knocked from his lips. She stepped between his legs at once to press in closer and Tom’s hands came up to cup the back of her head, her skin burning as his tongue coaxed her mouth open to kiss her deeper. Distinctly wondering what the fuck she’d gotten herself into, Marina slid her hands down Tom’s chest, breathing slowly at the addictive feeling of his body beneath her palms. She curled her fingers under the edge of his jumper, heart thudding hard as she brushed against the warm skin of his stomach.

“Tom,” she said, pulling away.

“What?” he breathed, looking a little dazed.

Marina tugged pointedly at his jumper. “Will you get mad at me if I take this off?”

He blinked. “Get mad at you?” he repeated blankly.

“Yeah,” she grinned, leaning up right against his lips. “Will you get mad at me if I take your clothes off?”

Tom was still for a moment, staring at her – then he shook his head. Marina reached up and pushed his coat off of his shoulders at once, leaning in to kiss him as he shrugged it off and it fell to the ground at his feet. Her hands immediately went to the bottom of his jumper and tugged it up too, but Tom took hold of the collar behind his neck and broke the kiss to pull it off himself, taking his shirt with it in one smooth movement that left his hair wonderfully tousled.

Marina paused, captivated by his sudden half-nakedness. He was gorgeous, almost ethereal, smooth planes of unbroken skin with no marks and not even one freckle, muscular and lean with collarbones that immediately drew her attention, his hips casting angled shadows that disappeared beneath the line of his trousers that were extremely difficult to look away from. Marina slowly slid her hands up his sides, not missing the way he drew in a breath at her touch.

She looked up at him. “You are absolutely beautiful,” she said quietly.

Tom’s eyes flickered slightly. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he took her face, even as he kissed her hard, and Marina’s pulse raced as she let her palms travel across his chest, his shoulders, his back – but right as she felt the kiss getting more heated, his mouth was suddenly gone from hers. Tom lowered his head and pressed his lips under her jaw, apparently aware of the effect it would have on her because she felt his warm breath of a laugh as her head immediately fell to the side.

“You know, I used to consider you quite difficult to read,” he murmured against her skin. One of his hands dropped from where he’d been cupping her face to slide around her waist and draw her closer, making Marina’s thoughts swirl as she pressed against his chest. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said softly, lips brushing against her neck and sending shivers across her skin. “You’re the easiest person to read I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah well, I’m not exactly trying to keep it subtle right now, am I?” Marina stammered with great effort.

Tom stepped forward and smoothly swapped their positions before she even knew what was happening, his lips still moving down her neck as her back hit the wall. The gentle brush of his teeth against her skin made her stifle – with only marginal success – an audible reaction, and Tom paused at once, lifting his head. The intensity of the dark heat in his eyes made her heart stutter, and Marina watched, unable to move as he slowly lifted one forearm to rest on the wall above her head, leaning in close enough to kiss her but stopping at the last second.

Tom’s other hand pressed softly against her cheek, lingering there for a second before slowly gliding down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, her breath catching as his palm slid down the swell of her chest, her waist, her hip – and then she froze. His hand had stilled on her thigh, resting on the skirt of her sundress like a question as he looked down at her with hooded eyes, waiting, watching.

Trying very hard not to tremble, Marina pulled him forward, kissing him with equal parts nervousness and anticipation, her heart pounding hard as he slowly pulled her dress up. The first touch of Tom’s fingers on her thigh made her gasp slightly against his mouth, and he let out a tense breath through his nose as his lips moved on hers, gentle and very steady. His fingers traced higher, and she felt a hot surge of nerves and pleasure in her stomach. Marina thought that if he hadn’t been pressing her against the wall, her knees would have collapsed.

“Tom,” she breathed, breaking the kiss.

His hand stilled at once. “Yes?” he said, and _oh god –_ his voice was transformed into something low and wanting.

“Are you – do you –” she tried, not sure how to phrase the question.

He just looked at her, his gaze filled with a heavy heat that made it difficult to remember exactly what she’d been trying to say.

“Are you sure?” she managed to get out. “About – about this?”

Tom gave his breath of a laugh and leaned back in to kiss her again. “Yes,” he said softly, right against her mouth. “Are you?”

Marina nodded, unsure if any sound would come out if she tried to speak again.

Tom blinked, eyes falling to her mouth, but he didn’t kiss her. He leaned in close, forehead gently resting against hers as his hand on her thigh went higher. She took in a long breath as he brushed the hollow where her leg met her hip, followed the flat of her stomach around, and _oh my god is this really happening, is this real –_

His fingers traced ever so gently across the top of her underwear, his eyes burning on her face. She nodded like he’d asked her a question, and he pushed his fingers underneath, his head tilting to her.

“Have you been waiting for this, Marina?” he said quietly in her ear.

 _That’s not fucking fair_ , she thought, her eyes fluttered shut at the sound of his voice. _He can’t talk to me like that too, that’s not fucking –_

“Shall we find out?” he asked, leaning down to softly kiss her shoulder, right as he curled his fingers.

A truly obscene noise came from between her lips as pleasure erupted across her entire body, his fingers sliding with ease – of course they do – and Tom let out a quiet, very controlled breath.

“You were,” he murmured against her skin, and Marina couldn’t even open her eyes, the feeling of his touch dominating her every thought, the sound of his voice sending shivers through her, and Tom was moving his fingers and –

A sound she didn’t know that she could make escaped her, her whole core on fire with his touch. Tom raised his head from her neck to lean his forehead against hers again, head rolling to the side slightly like he was trying to hear every part of it, and Marina was captivated, unable to think, unable to see, writhing under his touch as he slowly built her up.

“I’ve wanted to do this for some time,” he said softly, and Marina heard the same sound come unbidden from her, unable to stop it. “To see you like this,” he breathed, lips lowering to press under her jaw again.

The combination of his fingers, his words, and the ever gentle brush of his lips and teeth on her skin sent the hot feeling in her stomach into bloom, and her breath caught as his fingers slid insistently, relentlessly, drawing from her that swelling feeling that grew and grew, and –

“I want to watch you come undone,” he whispered smoothly in her ear, “I want to watch you lose control around my fingers –”

“Tom,” she choked out as the feeling continued to swell, unable to stop it anymore, she could only let it take her over as his fingers moved on her, grasping at him just for something to hold onto.

“Look at me,” he commanded quietly, and Marina opened her eyes.

Tom’s eyes had gone black, watching her gasp beneath his touch from where he leaned over her, calm, attentive, and hungry. The swelling feeling reached its brink and broke like a wave, her head falling back against the wall as it crashed over her, eyes closing without thinking and Tom was right there, lips on hers like he wanted to consume all the sounds she was making. It went on and on, finally dulling and leaving Marina trembling, her head falling forward against his chest as she heaved breaths in, dizzy and pulse racing, holding onto him to stop her knees from giving out.

She felt Tom’s palm against her cheek and let him lift her face, kissing her unbearably softly.

“Tom,” Marina murmured, still slightly dizzy.

He hummed, brushing a bit of her hair behind her ear as his eyes roamed her face contemplatively.

“When do you have to go?”

Tom frowned. “Sooner than I should like,” he said quietly, “but not right now.”

“Good,” she said, letting her hands slide down his chest and come to linger on the waistband of his trousers, toying with it, watching him expression closely.

Tom’s eyes widened slightly. “What are you doing?” he asked quickly – but his eyes were blacker still, blown out by desire. 

Marina held his gaze as she slowly knelt, watching with deep amusement and satisfaction as his eyes grew wider. When she slid her fingers around to the button of his trousers, his hand caught her chin and tilted her face up to look at him from where she knelt before him.

For a moment they stayed there, looking at each other, and a flicker of doubt passed over her.

“Would you like me to stop?” she asked softly.

Tom let a very long breath from his nose, seeming unable to look away from her face. “No,” he said quietly.

A low heat swelled in Marina’s stomach. When she lowered her face from his hand, he let her slip from his fingers without resistance.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina sighed loudly, flopping back on the bed and staring at the tall, cobwebbed ceiling of the room she shared with Charlie and Ginny at Aunt Muriel’s. She lifted her hand and stared at the fat, golden Galleon in her hand, turning it over again and again. Tom had told her that it would grow hot when the Portkey charm was going to activate, when she could see him at Riddle House again, but currently it was only warm from her own body heat – she had rarely put it down in the last two days, its shape now so familiar in her palm that its absence felt foreign.

Her thoughts turned (as they so frequently did) to the last time she'd seen him, her stomach flipping and her cheeks warming as if on principle. It had been unexpected, but she would be lying if she tried to tell herself that she wasn’t hoping for a continuation when they finally met again.

“Marina?” came Charlie’s voice accompanied by a light knock on the door.

She sat up. “Yeah?”

“Muriel’s asking if you can clean the upstairs windows again,” he said in deep amusement, poking his head through the door. “She also requested that I add –” he cleared his throat theatrically and continued in a very good impression of Muriel’s grumbling, gravelly voice, “– _if she’s so insistent that Muggles are just as capable as wizards, why does she leave streaks on the glass when a simple cleaning charm does not_?”

Marina snorted. “Well bloody tell her to go use a cleaning charm, then.”

 _“You_ tell her that,” Charlie snickered. “She’s in a foul mood, so good luck.”

“Why this time?” she rolled her eyes.

“Bill wrote again,” he said, sitting down on the end of her bed and lying back with his hands behind his head. “He says Ollivander and Griphook will be coming to stay here when they’re more recovered and Muriel’s peeved about it – not the biggest fan of goblins, old Muriel.”

“Ollivander and Griphook are coming here?” Marina demanded, leaning forward intently. “When?”

“He didn’t say,” Charlie frowned, “why?”

Marina’s thoughts raced. If the book was anything to go by, Ollivander and Griphook would have been there during Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s capture and escape at Malfoy Manor. More importantly, they will have spent the last few weeks at Shell Cottage holed up with them listening to them plan the Gringott’s break for Hufflepuff’s cup.

“Can I see the letter?” she asked quickly.

“It’s already been destroyed,” Charlie said, peering at her curiously. “What’s gotten into you?”

She exhaled stiffly. “Just interested in what they have to say,” she said dismissively, looking down at the coin in her hand.

“Is this to do with Tom?”

Marina glanced at him. “Partly,” she said honestly.

He gave her a pointed look. “Marina.”

“What?” she bristled defensively.

“Just – be careful,” Charlie said slowly.

“You’re not gonna join in with Tom telling me I should just give up and let him die, are you?” she asked in a brutal tone.

“No,” he frowned, “I was meaning that you need to be careful with what you know about the future. Dumbledore was pretty concerned about you derailing the entire world by trying to continually change things, wasn’t he?”

Marina deflated. “Oh,” she said awkwardly. “Right. Sorry.”

“But on the topic,” Charlie continued with a very bad attempt at nonchalance, “I was talking to mum about that the other day…”

“And?” she narrowed her eyes.

Charlie gave her a measured look. “Look,” he said quietly, sitting up. “Everyone knows you don’t really think Tom’s going to die, Marina.”

She stared at him. “Yeah, obviously,” she scoffed.

He didn’t laugh with her. “You need to consider it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You need to consider it seriously,” he repeated, frowning again. “Mum agrees – if you go into this completely sure nothing bad’s going to happen to him, you’re going to be devastated when things go wrong and –”

 _“If,”_ Marina interrupted sharply. “You mean, _if_ things go wrong, not _when.”_

There was a ringing silence.

“Just be careful,” Charlie said again, “we’re at war, Marina, sometimes people don’t make it even when you really want them to. Even when they’re people you really care about.”

Marina pressed her lips together and looked away. She knew he was right but she was angry with him for saying it anyway.

“I’ll be downstairs if you want to talk,” he said quietly, standing.

She nodded stiffly, not looking around until after she heard the door click shut. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, safe to appear in the empty room where no one would see them.

There were only two weeks left. Should she tell Tom? Could she somehow let him know that time was running out without giving away that the final battle was around the corner? Could she do something to stop it? _‘There is much more outside of your control in the world than inside it,’_ Tom had said to her once. Marina gripped the coin tightly in her hand, willing it to grow warm with all her soul. But it didn’t.

In that moment it felt like nothing in the world was in her control at all, like she was standing alone in front of a great wave, powerless to stop it breaking against the shore, watching it rage closer and closer, knowing that she’d drown in it once it consumed her.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  Pls offer any feedback you have re: salaciousness, I've never posted adult content before so lemme know what you think - if it's terrible I'll purge it from the internet and we can all agree to never mention this again :)  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	43. Secrets of The Darkest Art

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

  
**A LOUD BANG** rattled the cobwebbed chandelier above Marina’s head as a huge plume of pink smoke and golden sparks erupted around her, leaving her in fierce a coughing fit. Over the mayhem, she could vaguely hear Mrs Weasley’s distant furious bellows and Aunt Muriel’s indignant complaints berating Fred and George who were snickering loudly somewhere in front of her in the narrow hallway.

“It works then,” Fred chortled, clapping George on the shoulder.

“Better than I thought it would,” George grinned.

Marina wiped her eyes and squinted at them through the dissipating pink cloud. “What did you do, now?” she asked tiredly, fearing the worst.

“Listen, we’ve got a business to run, Marina,” Fred said seriously, “it’s the least you could do to help us test products.”

“Yeah, don’t be selfish,” George added cheerfully, “you’re the ideal test subject, after all.”

She sighed heavily and placed a hand on the wall to help make her way down the hall a bit to the silver-rimmed mirror that hung by the entrance. Her hair was a vibrant watermelon pink. She turned to them, beaming. “Was this supposed to be a prank?”

Their grins faltered.

“I’ll take a couple more if you’ve got them,” she shrugged, turning back to the mirror. “How long will it last?”

“A few hours,” George said slowly, looking decidedly put out by her positive response.

“Can you make it last longer?” she asked, running a hand through the pink waves.

Fred leaned to mutter to George, “note for later, move Horror Hair Bombs to the cosmetics section.”

“You’ll make a fortune,” Marina snickered.

“Alright you two, stop experimenting on our hapless Muggle, please,” Charlie said loudly, appearing from the lounge. “Muriel’s already on the brink of wringing your necks with all these bloody owls coming and going without this racket on top of things…”

“Mail-order business don’t run itself, Charlie,” George beamed unaffectedly as he and Fred retreated back to their room.

“Hapless, huh?” Marina echoed, quirking a brow.

“You know what I mean,” Charlie rolled his eyes. “By the way – Bill’s coming tonight with Ollivander.”

Marina stopped admiring her pink hair at once and rounded on Charlie sharply. “What? No Griphook?”

“No, he just said Ollivander,” Charlie frowned at the letter still clutched in his hand.

Marina stepped forward at once. “Could I see that?”

Charlie handed her the letter and she scoured it quickly. _“Griphook has decided to remain with us where he is best suited to pass his recovery…_ what the hell does that mean?” she read aloud, thoughts racing - then something in her memory clicked. Griphook didn’t just help Harry plan their Gringott’s break-in, he went with them, the Sword of Gryffindor promised to him as payment. But… Harry had drawn the Sword from the Sorting Hat in the Chamber of Secrets fighing the basilisk, and that hadn’t happened anymore - so what had they promised him in return for his help? Feeling nervous and wondering exactly how much they’d accidentally changed, Marina handed Charlie back the letter. “We can ask Ollivander about it when he arrives, I suppose,” she said distractedly, mostly to herself.

“You alright?” Charlie asked, peering at her.

She nodded.

“Sure?”

Marina blinked and looked up at him. The desire to nod again was strong, but… “Not really,” she said quietly. “What if… what if I can’t fix this, Charlie?”

Charlie hesitated, and then pulled her into a hug. “What’s that story you Muggles tell again?” he asked, squeezing her. “About that guy holding up the planet?”

“You mean Atlas?” she snorted, surprised.

“Yeah, you’re like him but if no one made him hold it and he just went over and picked it up anyway.”

“Gee, thanks,” Marina muttered.

Charlie pulled back and held her firmly by the shoulders. “Stop carrying the whole world by yourself, Marina” he said seriously, “it’s going to crush you.”

She stared at him a moment, rather taken aback. “You know, in that story he’s actually forced to hold up the sky and not the earth itself, it’s a common misconception that –”

“Shut up, I’m trying to make a point,” Charlie said dryly.

“Yeah well,” she said, looking away, “maybe the world’s heavy but someone’s got to hold the bloody thing.”

“I’m not telling you to put it down, you idiot, I’m saying that you don’t have to hold it up alone.”

Marina looked at him, suddenly trying to hold back an unexpected onslaught of tears. “Right,” she said thickly, frowning. “Thanks.”

Charlie sighed, shaking his head. “Come on then,” he smiled, “let’s get that bed sorted for Ollivander.”

“Where’s he staying?”

“With Fred and George.”

She snorted again. “He’ll be missing Malfoy Manor’s hospitality by the week’s end.”

That very evening whilst they crowded into Muriel’s hideous sitting room (there were three discrete stuffed cats, enough china in the cabinets to serve the entire Weasley clan at once, and entirely too many garlands of ugly dried flowers dominating every available surface), there was a loud knock at the front door. Everyone drew their wands, and Mrs Weasley leapt to her feet with a tense expression.

“Stay here,” she said firmly, making for the hall.

Fred and George went to follow her, but she gave them a fierce look as she left that made them both sit back down at once.

“Who’s there?” they heard her call.

“William Arthur Weasley!” came Bill’s voice above the pattering rainfall outside. “Eldest child of Molly Cordelia Prewett and Arthur Septimus Weasley, accompanying Garrick Ollivander from my home Shell Cottage where I’m harbouring a fair few teenage fugitives!”

Charlie snickered, and Muriel tsked very disapprovingly.

Mrs Weasley pulled the door open and they listened as she fussed them all the way down the hall and into the sitting room. Bill’s hair was damp and wind-swept and he looked somewhat worn out, and his arms were firmly supporting –

“Ollivander,” Marina said slightly nervously, getting to her feet.

Ollivander’s piercing gaze fell upon her at once. “Marina,” he said in his whispery voice as Bill and Mrs Weasley helped him into the seat nearest the fireplace. “What an unexpected pleasure…”

She seized the teapot and poured him a cup, handing it to him and crouching beside his seat. “You were with Harry and the others?”

Ollivander took the cup with trembling hands and took a very slow sip, before sighing deeply and closing his eyes, sinking a good few inches into the seat. He looked exhausted, unhealthily frail and somehow even thinner than when she had last seen him, his bones jutting out under his yellowing, papery skin.

“Give him a moment, Marina,” Bill said quietly, “I can talk to you about Harry.”

“No,” Ollivander said, feebly lifting a hand. “No, I am well.” He opened his eyes and fixed them on Marina. “What do you wish to know?”

“They’re… planning something,” she said tentatively.

Ollivander’s gaze seemed to sharpen. “Yes,” he said carefully. “Yes, I believe they were.”

“Do you know what?”

“No,” he said softly, “they did not see fit to discuss their plans with me.”

She hesitated. “But Griphook agreed to help them.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, looking at her with interest.

“For a price.”

Ollivander paused, his wild brows pulling together on his wrinkled face. “I know not of their bargain,” he whispered, lifting the cup to his lips. The rim was trembling, sending ripples across the surface of the tea.

Marina swallowed her swelling disappointment. “Did they tell you what they’ve been doing? Over the past few months?” she pressed, leaning forward intently.

He shook his head. “But I know they travelled far, further even than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Marina frowned, drawing back in surprise. “They’ve been overseas?”

“I only heard what they mentioned in passing,” Ollivander muttered, eyes closing in fatigue. “They were very secretive, and rightly so.”

“What did they mention?”

“Marina,” Mr Weasley interrupted, giving her a significant look. “Ollivander has been through a lot –”

“No manners,” Muriel sniffed, shaking her head. Marina saw Fred surreptitiously nudge something underneath her seat with his toe with an extremely nonchalant expression on his face.

She pressed her lips together, but nodded and stood to return to her seat before hesitating. “Could… I ask one last question?” 

Ollivander drew his eyes open with what looked like significant effort and looked up at her.

“Did they have a sword with them?”

He frowned again. “A sword?”

She nodded quickly.

“No,” Ollivander said, looking confused. “Not that I saw.”

Marina grit her teeth and nodded again, turning away. Charlie raised a brow at her quizzically and she shrugged.

“Marina.”

She looked back in surprise. Ollivander was still staring at her, his misty eyes as bright as she’d ever seen them. “Have you seen Master Riddle since escaping?” he asked, his voice somehow both very soft and razor sharp.

Marina’s stomach dropped, and the room turned tense. They had agreed to keep everything with Tom a secret from Muriel and Ollivander long beforehand, but as she looked into his eerie blue gaze, Marina was suddenly unsure if they would be able to conceal anything from him at all.

“No,” she frowned, jaw still tense. “Have you?”

There was a loaded silence. “No,” Ollivander said very quietly. “No, I have not. Perhaps you were wrong, after all.”

“What do you mean?” she ground out.

“Perhaps He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named does need an heir.”

Marina rolled her eyes. “Yeah I’m sure he’ll graciously hand over the Elder Wand when he decides to peacefully step down.”

Ollivander’s cup fell into its saucer. “You know of the Elder Wand?” he gasped, face stricken.

 _Whoops._ “I – I meant –” she stammered.

“Well you better be getting back, Bill,” Charlie said loudly, standing from the couch. “Fleur will be wondering what’s taking you so long!”

“Come visit again soon though!” Mr Weasley shouted, leaping to his feet and seizing Bill by the shoulders. “Marina – will you help see Bill to the door?”

“That china has been in my family for generations,” Muriel snarled at Ollivander, “I expect a _modicum_ of civility for my hospitality –”

There was an explosion of red smoke from Muriel’s chair and her hair promptly turned bright vermillion. Muriel began to shriek in rage and Fred winked at Marina conspiratorially as Mr Weasley carted her and Bill out the room and down the hall.

“You must be more careful, Marina,” Mr Weasley breathed, away from the chaos.

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “I didn’t – I wasn’t –”

Suddenly, Marina felt the coin Tom had given her grow warm in her pocket. She wrenched it out and stared at it. “Tom’s back,” she said blankly.

There was a pause.

“Well go on then!” Mr Weasley said hastily, waving her down the hall. “That Portkey will break the Fidelius Charm if the wrong person gets their hands on it!”

Marina nodded and bolted down the hallway past Bill and Mr Weasley, the coin held tightly in her hand. She made it out the front door and down the very Grimmauld Place style front path at lightning speed, and was through the gate and onto the street in seconds, ignoring as her socks soaked through with the evening rain in her rush to escape the bounds of the charm on Muriel’s property. The streetlamp she raced past flickered and then the world was twisting, Riddle House appearing around her the next instant.

The dingy room was lit by candles in the old wall sconces, but they were only barely managing to keep away the darkness that seemed to permeate the very walls of the place. Tom looked up from where he was sitting on the settee, dressed in the plain black clothes she used to see him wear under his Death Eater robes. He stood quickly at the sight of her but she was already closing the distance between them.

“Where have you been?” Marina said breathlessly, throwing her arms around him and nearly sending them both tumbling backwards onto the settee.

“You do appreciate how difficult it is to deceive the Dark Lord and his closest circle of Death Eaters on a daily basis, don’t you?” he said, sounding half-amused and half-censorious as he pulled back to look at her. “It’s not exactly easy to –” Tom paused. “Is your hair pink?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

He stared at her.

“It’ll fade soon,” she waved her hand, “Anyway, are you alright? With the Elder wand, are things… worse?”

Tom’s expression tightened, his arms around her going slightly stiff. “He has been rather preoccupied with testing out the capabilities of his new wand,” he said quietly, gaze going somewhere behind her. A long and rather unnerving silence fell.

“Tom,” Marina said in concern, placing a hand on his cheek.

His attention returned to her like she’d yanked him from some distant train of thought.

“Are you alright?” she repeated, frowning.

Tom paused for a long moment and then nodded slightly. In the ringing silence under his gaze, Marina suddenly felt like she’d skipped a stair.

He leaned in and kissed her, pulling her closer at the same time and she breathed deeply, amazed all over again at how ridiculously good he smelled, how warm his lips were against hers, how soft his hair was between her fingers.

But it wasn’t enough. Marina stepped forward and pushed his chest lightly, and Tom fell onto the settee behind him. He looked up at her in slight confusion – but it melted away at once as she straddled him, his hands coming up to her hips as if unbidden as she placed her palms against his jaw and kissed him again. Tom’s hands slid up her waist, pulling her flush against him, the warmth from his body saturating her own and making her sigh with how good it felt. An impossibly long, dizzying moment passed, and then they just barely pulled away. Marina stared at him, rather entranced.

“Hello,” Tom said quietly, a small, slightly amused smile on his lips.

“Hi,” she grinned.

He exhaled slowly, lifting his hand to her face where it lingered gently on her cheek. “You must know that I would come here more frequently if I could,” he said thoughtfully, watching his palm brush her skin.

“I know.”

“I don’t think I’d ever leave, if I could,” Tom continued, eyes suddenly meeting hers.

“What, stay here forever?” she asked teasingly, pushing her fingers through his hair. 

He nodded, not looking half as facetious as her.

“No offence Tom, but I don’t trust you to deal with anything eternal,” Marina deadpanned, “you have a terrible track record with the concept.”

His expression flickered with just barely muted amusement, settling into something bordering on devious that made her stomach twist. Tom leaned in slowly, kissing her again in a hot, dangerously confident way that had her feeling weightless. His fingers carded into her hair and held her to him, his tongue against her lips making her open them reflexively – his hand in her hair tightened at once, tilting her head as he kissed her more deeply, his other arm wrapping around her waist. When he broke the kiss she was breathing fast, staring at him in blank surprise.

“Would you deny me an eternity of this?” Tom murmured, fingers tracing back down her cheek so softly that shivers danced across her skin.

“Normally yes,” she whispered, “but right now I’m…” she trailed off. Tom was pulling her towards his lips again, watching her closely.

“You’re what?” he asked quietly, his arm around her waist pressing her in closer against him.

“I’m not sure… that I… could deny you anything,” Marina breathed, her eyes at serious risk of falling shut as Tom brought her within a breath of his lips.

He hummed, cocking his head as if in thought. “Perhaps you might answer me a question, then.”

She nodded.

“I’ve always wondered…” Tom said, eyes not leaving hers. “Why haven’t you ever asked me how I made the Horcrux?”

Marina’s eyes widened. She drew back, staring at him in shock. “…What?”

“Everyone else did,” Tom said evenly, his hand falling from her cheek and settling on her hip. “Dumbledore, Moody, Lupin… Even McGonagall. But all this time, you’ve never asked me how I did it. Why not?”

She was flummoxed, battling to get out a coherent response. “Did you… _tell_ them?”

Tom’s gaze was as measured as it was unyielding. “No,” he said smoothly, “and only Dumbledore ever pressed the point – though eventually even he accepted that if he wanted to know, he would have to read the very same book from which I had learned the answer myself.”

Marina’s thoughts spun. “I guess it… didn’t really occur to me,” she frowned, very taken aback.

Tom looked at her very sceptically. “It didn’t occur to you,” he repeated, not sounding convinced.

“What do you want me to say?” she shrugged. “I guess I assumed that if you wanted to tell me, you would.”

“Does it disgust you?” he asked calmly.

Marina frowned. It was a very odd question. “What do you mean?” she asked slowly.

“Does what I’ve done disgust you?” he said again, the unrelenting presence of his gaze on her face taking on an almost unnerving quality. “Is that why you never asked?”

“Tom,” she said sharply, returning her hands to his cheeks. “Stop it. Don’t come up with your own worst case scenario reasons for my actions and superimpose them onto me, it’s not fair. And in this case, it’s also not true.”

“Then why didn’t you?” he breathed.

“I didn’t even think to ask!” she exclaimed, dropping her hands. “I don’t know why, it’s just not – not important to me.”

Tom scoffed. “I’m afraid I don’t believe that you consider my past actions to be of little importance, Marina,” he said coolly.

“Do you _want_ me to be disgusted by you?” she asked, staring at him in disbelief. “Why won’t you accept my answer?”

“Because you wouldn’t be here with me if you knew!” Tom said loudly.

His words rang in Marina’s head as they stared at each other. She recognised that frenetic fervour in his eyes, that same brittle intensity that sometimes reared its head in him.

“Do you want to tell me?” she asked quietly.

Tom was frozen, staring at her.

“You don’t have to,” Marina said carefully, “but you can if you want to.”

He exhaled tensely, his eyes dropping from hers. “I do have to,” he muttered through a clenched jaw.

“You don’t –”

“I do,” he interrupted sharply, glaring at her. “I’ve known it since Christmas Eve.”

She frowned, waiting for him to speak again.

“It’s not a spell,” Tom finally said, voice quiet and stiff. “That is – there are spells involved, but really, it’s a potion.”

Her brows shot up in surprise but he carried on seemingly without noticing. “I won’t bother listing the ingredients, you can surely imagine the calibre of materials required for such a thing,” he said dismissively, looking away, “the ingredients aren’t the worst of it.” He paused again, something working in his jaw. “You have to do it yourself,” he said quietly.

She frowned in confusion. “Do what?”

“Rip your soul out,” he said flatly. “The potion is for your hands, it allows you to reach into your own body. You have to tear your soul out yourself.”

Marina felt like she’d been submerged in cold, dark water.

“It screams,” Tom said blankly.

Her head fell, unable to look at him.

“I didn’t expect the screaming,” he was saying in the same blank voice, almost to himself, “the pain, yes, but not the screaming. It was almost as if it was afraid, it kept resisting, and it took so long to…” he trailed off.

A nauseating void was carving out a hole in Marina’s gut, but still Tom kept going.

“It surprised me how much force was required, I remember my arms were shaking at the effort,” he said, looking down at his hands with empty eyes. “The potion was pitch black and thick… it was like submerging my hands oil, and it was everywhere, and there was blood, and…” he swallowed, pausing. “The pain was immeasurable,” he said simply.

“How could you do that to yourself?” Marina said quietly.

Tom looked up at her like he was alarmed to find that she’d been listening. There was something in his expression that distinctly reminded her of the way he’d looked at her the first morning they’d spent together, something strikingly vulnerable. Something scared.

“Every single sign was telling you to stop…” she muttered, shaking her head. “How could you ignore them?”

“I was afraid,” he whispered.

She sighed, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Of death.”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid now?” she asked, lowering her hands. “Of dying?”

Tom was still staring at her. “Yes,” he breathed.

“Would you do the same again?”

His expression turned slightly incredulous. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

“Then what was it?” Marina said challengingly, watching him with a hard feeling in her chest. “If the fear is the same, what’s different?”

Tom’s lips pressed together, his expression intense and his breathing slightly heavy. “I…”

“What’s different?” she repeated hotly.

“I didn’t care!” he said loudly, glaring at her again, “I knew that it was wrong! Every single step of it felt wrong and I didn’t care because I wanted what it could give me! I knew that it would destroy me but I didn’t care because it was worth it!”

They stared at each other, another ringing silence falling after his outburst.

Marina lightly shoved his shoulder. “And how did that work out, huh?”

Tom closed his eyes with a hollow laugh, his head dropping. “Your sense of appropriate comedic timing needs some serious work, Marina.”

“You laughed, I’m off the hook,” she smiled, taking his face and lifting him to look at her again. “And hey,” she said gently, “now I know what you did, and I’m still here with you, so you were wrong about that, too.”

“How could this not change your feelings?” he asked quietly, eyes flicking between hers.

“I already knew that you used to be a massive idiot, Tom,” she said with the faintest jest in her voice.

A smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Marina sighed again, realising he’d need more. “Listen,” she said quietly, leaning closer, “honestly… it really scares me, the things you’ve done.”

Tom grew utterly still again, eyes fixed on her face.

“I can’t even begin to imagine it,” she continued, frowning, “and I’ll never be okay with it. Not ever.” She paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “You asked me once if I liked you, do you remember that? On the train to Albania?”

He nodded at once.

“And I told you that I like lots about you but not your past?”

“Actually, you told me that you like parts of me,” Tom said smoothly.

Marina paused, surprised at his correction.

“Trust me,” he added dryly, seeing her expression, “I would remember if you had said that you liked a lot about me.”

“Right,” she said slowly, “well – my point is, being okay with what you’ve done in the past was never on the table, but I’ve always reserved the right to judge you based on what you do now.”

“You would let it go?” Tom asked, watching her in that intense, unrelenting way again. “What I’ve done?”

“No,” she frowned. His expression faltered and she swiftly lifted her hand. “Let me finish – I mean – no, because letting it go isn’t possible, is it? Not with things like that… but… Tom, your worst mistakes don't make up your true essence. You’ve spent more time and considerably more effort fixing those mistakes than you did making them, after all, there are more important parts of you than your darkest moments,” she said gently.

"Such as?” he asked, all low and quiet, and Marina fought back a shiver as something in his voice reverberated in her chest.

“How you make people feel,” she said, looking down. “You should see Mrs Weasley’s face when she talks about you – or how happy Charlie would get when you would come back to the Burrow – and I reckon Fred and George would love it if you could come to visit Muriel's, but maybe that’s just because they’re developing a new line of electric-shock quills and you’re totally nerd enough for them to test them on you.”

“And what about you?” Tom said softly.

Marina’s face immediately felt hot, and his eyes roamed across her flushed cheeks with interest. “Me?” she managed to say.

He hummed, his hands on her hips tightening slightly as he leaned closer. Marina’s pulse tripled. “How do I make you feel?” Tom murmured.

“I – well – today when that coin warmed up I was so excited to see you that I ran outside into the rain without shoes on,” she said blithely. “Normally I’d rather cut a man down where he stands than have wet socks, so that should tell you quite a bit.”

He huffed a laugh and tugged her towards him, arms closing around her in a very tight embrace. Marina wrapped her arms around his neck and took a deep breath, her eyes closing as she pressed her face against him. _Come on, seriously? You can do better than that…_

“I get homesick all the time,” she mumbled, voice muffled by his shoulder. “Most of the time I don’t even know why, there are so many holes in my memory that it’s hard to know what’s missing. But… there are two things that help,” she forced out. “Watching the sunrise – that’s why I like getting up early – it always feels so familiar and calm and bigger than me in a really reassuring way.” _Stop ranting about the fucking sunrise and get to the fucking point._ Marina grit her teeth.

“And the second?” Tom prompted gently in the wake of her sudden silence.

She squeezed her eyes shut. _Alright no backing out now, three, two, one…_

“You.”

Tom looked at her, but she didn’t lift her face from his shoulder. _Come on you emotionally reclusive idiot, just fucking say it._

“That’s… how you make me feel,” Marina got out with considerable effort. “Like I’m home.”

Tom’s hands were against her cheeks, lifting her face gently, his lips on hers the next second making her immediately forget what she’d been worrying about. “You say such things,” Tom murmured, pushing back her hair. “Are you trying to make it impossible for me to leave?”

“Do you have to go soon?” she asked, alarmed.

He nodded, his other hand dropping to her thigh and making her heart thud hard in her chest again.

“How soon?” Marina said slowly.

Tom smirked slightly. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to gage if I can manipulate you into staying longer,” she smiled, playing with his collar teasingly.

“And how exactly,” he said quietly as he leaned in, “do you intend on doing that?”

She pulled back a fraction, stopping him from kissing her at the last second. Tom’s eyes flashed but Marina ignored him, her hands flattening on his shoulders and pushing him slowly, firmly back against the couch, watching as his expression shifted slightly with surprise. Marina took hold of the back of the couch behind him and leaned in herself, meeting his lips gently, feeling with pleasure as his hands moved from her hips to her waist, and then back to her thighs like he couldn’t decide where to keep them.

His kiss grew harder, hungrier, and she was losing herself in it, Tom’s hands roaming her body, taking hold of her shirt and drawing it up almost questioningly. Marina broke the kiss and lifted her arms to let him pull it up over her head, and Tom captured her lips again quickly as she buried her hands in his hair. His hands on her bare skin made her hesitate, pulling back to stare at him as his fingers traced down her back.

“How’s the manipulation going?” she breathed as his hands lingered on the strap of her bra.

“Very well,” he said smoothly, unclasping it easily. Marina shrugged it off and let it join her shirt discarded on the floor beside them. “You’ve quite destroyed my intention of going anywhere.”

“Really?” she said hollowly as he pressed his lips to her collarbone, searing hot on her skin as they trailed downwards. “You’re easier to manipulate than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m not usually so compliant,” he murmured as his lips moved lower. Marina’s breath hitched. “But I must admit… I’m rather enjoying you manipulating me.”

His hands were pressed firmly against her back which was very lucky since his lips were suddenly teasing her in such a way that was making it difficult to stay upright. Tom looked up at her with a wicked amusement. “The sounds you make,” he said softly, lifting his head, “are downright sinful.”

Marina – who hadn’t even realised that she had been reacting rather loudly to his attentions – decided to bypass responding and pulled up his shirt instead, dropping it onto their growing pile of discarded clothing and kissing him hard. The feeling of his naked chest against hers made her sigh reflexively against his lips, and Tom’s grip on her thighs tightened. Just as she started to get that same free-falling sensation, Tom pulled back.

“Marina,” he said, looking down with a frown tugging at his brow.

“You’re not seriously going to say you have to go now, are you?” she quipped a bit breathlessly.

He exhaled, sounding strained. “I have to go.”

“You’re joking,” she groaned.

“I’m not,” he said, half-smiling at her. “I’m sorry.”

Marina gave a very melodramatic sigh “I need to get better at manipulating you.”

“Your method is perfect,” Tom smirked, “may I suggest starting sooner, next time.”

“That’s a team effort,” she grinned.

Tom huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“I should warn you,” he said right before he was about to leave, and Marina turned to look at him, pulling her shirt down. “I will probably not be back for some time – the Dark Lord has noticed my absences and it grows harder to convince him that they’re innocuous.”

“How long is some time?” she frowned. “Another week?”

“Two, if not more.”

Marina’s blood froze. The Battle of Hogwarts was in ten days. If Tom didn’t intend to come back for two weeks, then…

Suddenly realising that he was still talking to her, she forced her attention back to him. “Sorry what did you say?” she breathed.

He arched a brow. “I was reminding you that infrequent visits were to be expected from the very beginning.”

_Is this the last time I’m ever going to see him?_

“Marina,” Tom frowned, stepping forward slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Realising that her eyes had slightly welled up (and angrily cursing her own body for its betrayal), she blinked furiously. “Nothing,” she said firmly. “Two weeks is just… a long time.”

“I know,” Tom said slowly. His eyes had taken on a decidedly sharp edge as he looked at her, and much like with Ollivander, Marina realised that there was little hope of slipping much past him.

_Say something._

_Wait – don’t say something. If you warn him he might not be able to focus and Voldemort will notice and figure something’s up –_

_If you don’t tell him, he’s going to leave this fucking house not realising that you’re never going to speak again –_

_Don’t you dare tell him, you can still get to the Battle of Hogwarts, you still have time to figure something out –_

_How the fuck are you going to get to the Battle of Hogwarts! You’re a fucking Muggle! Why the hell would they take you to the –_

“Marina.”

Tom’s hands against her face wrenched her back to the present, and she stared at him, slightly taken by the sight. Would she have believed her eyes a year ago to see him with such an expression on his face? The concern in his eyes drawing his brows together, the attentive brush of his hand on her cheek as he assessed her, trying to figure out whatever was upsetting her? “Are you alright?” he asked, frown deepening.

_Tell him – don’t tell him – tell him – don’t tell him –_

“Yes,” she whispered. “I – I just – don’t like it when you’re gone so long.”

He nodded, not looking entirely convinced. “I know,” he said again, very quietly, his thumb brushing across her very bitten lips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said in a slightly quivering voice. _Tell him – don’t you fucking dare – what the fuck else am I supposed to do –_

“I’ll see you in two weeks, alright?” Tom said, tilting her up to look at him.

Heart pounding, Marina forced herself to meet his eyes. _Tell him._ “Tom,” she said quietly, chest aching.

He frowned again. “Yes?”

She froze, whatever possible combination of words she could have said next catching in her throat.

_‘People die in wars, Marina –’_

_‘You cannot help me this time –’_

_‘Sometimes people don’t make it even when you really want them to. Even when they’re people you really care about –’_

_‘We must not fall into the trap of trying to avoid anything unpleasant from happening, some things, no matter how difficult, must come to pass –’_

_‘Neither can live while the other survives –’_

“I’m going to miss you,” Marina whispered.

Tom let out a long breath and drew her closer, kissing her very softly, and Marina forced down tears as she laced her arms around his neck, breathed him in, leaned into his addictive warmth for the last time –

_Tell him._

Tom drew back, hands still gentle on her cheeks. “I’ll miss you too,” he said quietly.

_Tell him that you love him._

The coin was warm in her pocket, and a breath fell from her that left her chest feeling hollow.

“I should go,” Tom said, eyes still heavy on her face. “I’ve activated your Portkey.”

Marina nodded, staring at him, heart hammering. _Tell him that you love him._ “Okay.”

Tom’s eyes flickered. He leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek, so gentle that her eyes fell shut and she felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. _God tell him, tell him you love him._

“See you soon,” he said, his hands falling from her face as he stepped back and drew his wand.

The coin was even warmer, and Marina’s heart lurched as it struck her, that this was it, that there wasn’t going to be another chance, that she should just fucking _tell him! tell him that you love him! Of course you do you idiot! So TELL HIM THAT YOU LOVE HIM –_

“Tom,” she said quickly.

He paused right before Apparating, his brow creasing slightly as he met her gaze.

Marina swallowed hard. “I –”

The room twisted, and Tom was gone. Marina sank to her knees next to the flickering streetlamp, its light reflected in the dark mirror of the rain-drenched street. Cold seeped in around her at once, and she gasped breath after breath, a memory coming back to her from so long ago that it felt like a dream.

_“If we move forward with this plan,” Dumbledore was saying in the bright, airy Hogwarts Hospital Wing, “you must accept that in the case of failure… I am afraid I will have no other choice.”_

_“I understand what you’re saying,” she had said, nothing but the faintest purple staining her cuticles, the stiff, slightly rough bedsheets beneath her, not knowing what was to come in the next year. “You’ll destroy the Horcruxes if things go wrong.” Like it was nothing. She’d said it like it was nothing, not knowing what it would mean –_

_“If you agree to the terms, we may proceed,” Dumbledore had said._

_She’d sighed, flippant and glib. “Sure.”_

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  #angst  
>  Thank you SO MUCH for your feedback on the last chapter, I DIE. You're the best, please never underestimate how much of an impact your comments make. Honestly, I really, really appreciate it. Thank you so much.  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	44. May 2nd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: quite a bit of murder, blood, etc._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **TOM FROWNED AT** the place where Marina had just vanished. Her expression had been very curious indeed, a wide-eyed panic mixed with reckless resolve. Something about it made him feel uneasy; she’d been behaving strangely for the entire duration of the farewell, but that final moment had been exceptionally odd.

It made him wonder. Marina _knew_ things, after all.

He turned away dismissively and lifted his wand again. Whatever it had been would have to wait until their next meeting, he rationalised, since he couldn’t ask her to clarify there was very little to be gained from dwelling on it until then.

Riddle House vanished from around him and gave way to the sharp bite of a clear, cool night, the cloudless sky bright despite the waning moon. Insects whistled apprehensively from the distant trees, and a ghostly peacock wailed at his sudden appearance. Malfoy Manor lay ahead, jutting up against the sky and flanked by a vast expanse of lavish gardens and grounds that Tom had never once seen anyone actually use. The house itself was composed of near-seamless stone bricks and hard angles, stretching skywards just to leer back down at him.

Tom thought it looked like a gravestone.

He deftly stowed his wand as he made his way up the long gravel drive, his mood souring considerably with each step; it was a grim alternative to what he had left behind in Riddle House. Tom frowned again as he forcibly diverted his thoughts away from the evening he had spent with Marina, inexorably aware that making himself stop once he had started would be no mean task.

The inside of Malfoy Manor was silent and shadowed, save for a few candles flickering in silver fixtures on the walls, the lights glistened on the metal as if each an eye, watching him as he quietly wound his way through the corridors. He felt the latent chill of the place settling against his skin, his expression freezing into a rigid mask. He was well-practised at submerging his inner thoughts, reducing them to a current moving far beneath a thick, frigid layer of composure, unable to be sensed at the surface.

The dark wooden door of the drawing room swung open as Tom approached and he stepped without hesitation into the delicate silence within. Every heavy, lavish chair positioned at the ornately carved table was empty, save for one – the significantly more opulent chair at the end of the table directly in front of the fireplace was occupied by a tall, black-robed figure with a waxen, pale face fixed in an aloof, inimical fleer, whose eyes gleamed red even at a distance. Tom’s stomach twisted. The face disgusted him as much now as the first time he had seen it.

“Tom,” Voldemort said softly, waving a white, long-fingered hand at the seat directly to his right. “Come.”

Swallowing his revulsion, Tom stepped forward and took his place at Voldemort’s side, watching the figure closely. This close, he could see the distorted, inhuman features with even greater clarity, and far beneath his composure, the disgust roiled again. Not for the first time did he wonder how he had ever been on a path that led him to become such a thing.

“What news from the Ministry?” Voldemort asked, steepling his fingers before him. For the briefest second, the action almost reminded Tom of Dumbledore.

“The Muggle world remains ignorant of the true nature of the war,” Tom replied calmly, “but there appears to be a growing contingent of Muggle sympathisers among our enemies who are attempting to spread the truth to the Muggle media… at present they are ignored as conspiracy theorists and eccentrics, but if the efforts continue…”

“I will have Yaxley see to it that this group is identified and dealt with.”

Tom nodded once in silence.

Voldemort gave a mockery of a smile. “Well done, Tom… your proficiency liaising with the Ministry certainly rings with a particular irony…”

Tom’s lips flickered in a dispassionate smile of his own. He did not think that this was the exact arrangement that Slughorn had envisioned when he’d told him to consider a future in politics.

“The others are summoned,” Voldemort said disinterestedly. Tom made to stand but Voldemort’s sharp command cut him off. “Stay, Tom, I wish for your presence.”

He slowly sat back down, apprehension hidden from his face. Voldemort was hardly secretive with him, but rarely was he involved in the proceedings of the Death Eaters. It did not take long before nearly all of the seats at the table were filled by the leering faces of the Death Eaters, all casting curious glances in Tom’s direction, clearly sharing his own sentiments about his attendance, though none reacted so strongly as –

“Ah, Severus,” Voldemort said calmly.

Snape’s eyes fell upon Tom at once, and even at a distance, he could see that the man’s mouth twisted unpleasantly at the sight of him. Tom withheld a smirk. Clearly, usurping Snape’s prized position at Voldemort’s right had garnered some resentment.

“My Lord,” Snape said coolly. He was forced to instead take the seat next to Tom, who took the opportunity to lazily rest his arm on the table as he leisurely leaned back in his chair. In the corner of his eye, he watched Snape’s expression turn even uglier.

“Master Riddle,” Snape said quietly. “What a pleasant surprise… I had not expected you to be in attendance.”

“Tom is here on my bidding, Severus,” Voldemort said sharply.

Snape inclined his head at once. “Of course, my Lord.”

Voldemort’s narrowed eyes lingered on Snape’s face for a moment longer, and then swept across the other Death Eaters. “There can be no uncertainly as to why I have called you here this evening,” he said in near whisper.

No one dared speak a word.

“The boy.” Voldemort’s voice had turned very cold.

There was yet more silence, and Voldemort’s eyes flashed. “Severus, you are quite sure he has not tried to contact any of his friends?” he demanded.

“Yes, my Lord, we have placed protections on the grounds and the surrounding village, as well as –”

“And he has not been seen again by Scabior?” Voldemort interrupted, his crimson eyes darting to Bellatrix opposite Tom.

“No, my Lord,” she said in a breathy voice, leaning forward eagerly. “None of his men have reported –”

“We must take one of his friends,” Voldemort said curtly, “he will come for them if they are in danger, I am sure of it. Severus, who of his close circle remain at the school?”

“His most loyal are in hiding, my Lord,” Snape said quietly, “somewhere in the castle from what we can tell, but –”

“Find them.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Good,” Voldemort leaned back in his chair. “That you let him slip through your fingers still… _displeases_ me.” Voldemort’s eyes fell on Lucius Malfoy, who visibly shrank under the scrutiny. “No matter,” he said softly, his gaze still on the cowering man like he was savouring the reaction, “I am sure you understand the importance of retrieving him…”

By the time Voldemort was satisfied with his acolytes’ reports and vanished into the depths of his chambers, the sky had turned cloudy and the moonlight had long since been smothered by the cover.

“Master Riddle.”

Tom paused before the door, swallowing his annoyance at both the interruption and the voice that had presented it. He turned, apathetic expression in place as the other Death Eaters passed him by.

“Severus,” he said, raising his jaw a millimetre. He did not have time to waste on Snape, he had just learned that Voldemort planned on sending Nagini on some private reconnaissance mission and was determined to figure out where. There was the chance that he could corner her if she was separated from Voldemort and the others, a chance that he could figure out a way to –

“I hope you did not misunderstand me earlier,” Snape said softly, peering down his hooked nose, “it is just that you are always so _busy,_ Master Riddle, I had thought that you would instead be off on one of your…” Snape paused languidly as if searching for the most deprecating word possible. His lips twitched, clearly having settled on one. _“Adventures.”_

Tom’s eyes narrowed but before he could reply, Bellatrix’s throaty, rasping voice interrupted them

“Careful, Severus,” she barked, her expression hostile and her posture almost predatory. Tom had the distinct mental image of her leaping forward and tearing Snape limb from limb. “You forget yourself,” she breathed, “Master Riddle is the Dark Lord’s heir.”

Snape looked at her impassively for a moment, and then returned his gaze to Tom. He inclined his head. “My apologies, Master Riddle, no offence was meant.”

“Of course,” Tom said softly, “I can hardly blame you for not understanding the purpose of my travels, Severus, the Dark Lord is particularly selective with whom he trusts with that information, after all.”

Snape’s gaze hardened, and Tom allowed the faintest of smirks to break on his face. Bellatrix sneered in amusement and vanished out the door after Dolohov, leaving Tom and Snape alone in the dark drawing room.

“I do not wish there to be any ill between us, Master Riddle,” Snape said icily. “Forgive me for our little… disagreement _.”_

“Not at all,” Tom smiled coolly, “now if you’ll excuse me –”

“Alecto and her brother continue to raise chaos at the school,” Snape interrupted as if he had not heard him at all. Irritation flickered in Tom’s chest. “If the Dark Lord intends for the next generation of witches and wizards to be able to hold themselves in a duel for more than a few seconds, he may have to reconsider their appointments as Professors.”

Tom hesitated, his eyes scouring Snape’s face as suspicion and curiosity battled for dominance at the comment. It was a dangerous thing to imply that Voldemort had made any sort of oversight. “Is that so?” he said quietly.

“You yourself were once interested in teaching, were you not?” Snape drawled, looking around the empty drawing room with an expression approaching boredom.

“I was,” Tom said carefully.

“Perhaps you might consider offering your services,” Snape said with a slight curl to his lips, “you would certainly fill the Dark Arts role with a modicum more finesse than Amycus.”

Tom stared at him, wondering if he could get away with glancing into the man’s thoughts, ascertain some sort of potential motive for the mystifying and wholly unexpected offer – but no, Snape was an accomplished Occlumens himself –

Snape just inclined his head again and strolled past Tom through the door, his black robes flowing behind him.

“That still leaves a Carrow in your school, Severus,” Tom called sharply, suspicions unassuaged, “unless you have also discerned a candidate for the Muggle Studies position.”

Snape paused and looked back at him. “Do you have someone in mind?” he said in a delicate tone.

Tom snorted with an appropriate level of disgust at the implication. “An expert in Muggle Studies?” he asked derisively.

Snape’s gaze was unflinching. “Oh I have every confidence that you would be capable of finding such an expert among your acquaintance, Master Riddle,” he said smoothly.

Beneath his composure, Tom’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t be meaning… he _couldn’t_ know about…

Snape only gave him the same apathetic twitch of his lips and turned, leaving Tom staring after him as he melted into the darkness of the hallway. He wondered if he could have missed a Legilimens attack, if his mind had wandered during the meeting, if he’d let his thoughts drift towards her… But no, surely he was just being paranoid. There was no way that he had been so careless, and Snape’s comment could be unrelated, a coincidence, an unlucky choice of words…

Tom’s jaw tightened as he followed Snape from the room, trying to dispel the sickening suspicion swelling in his stomach that somehow, impossibly, Snape knew about Marina.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Days later, Tom very carefully shut the door to the cellar behind him, a restrained motion as he smothered the desire to slam the thing as hard as he could. His breath felt brittle and shallow as he took numb, controlled steps down the hall. The man’s screams had been instantly snuffed out by the silencing charms, but still they echoed in his head where they would likely remain for some time.

It was always worse when he recognised them. Or rather, when they recognised him. The man had worked in Diagon Alley in a small but popular café across from Ollivanders. Tom had once seen him catch a group of students pilfering popping candies from the jar on the counter, and the man had made them eat enough of the things to make orange and yellow sparks shoot out of their noses. He’d caught Tom’s eye, who had been watching from the wand shop window. He’d winked playfully.

He would be dead by the morning.

Tom set his jaw as he retreated to his chambers on the uppermost floor of the Manor, resisting the urge to break into a faster pace. Such haste would only garner suspicion.

Not a word had been breathed in his direction as to where Nagini could be, and Voldemort was still so preoccupied with experimenting with the Elder Wand that Tom had barely had a chance to speak with him. He was no closer to learning how he might draw out Voldemort’s soul than he was the week before, or the week before that, and he was growing desperate. Tom could feel the panic closing in on him as the inevitability of the truth pressed in from all sides, trying to hold it back with increasingly feeble attempts at hope.

Tom let out a long breath as the door to his chambers finally swung shut behind him and sank into the armchair by the fireplace in the south side of his room, his eyes closing as he let his head fall back against the seat. Exhaustion and desperation ached hard in his chest. It certainly did not help that it had been more a week since he’d seen Marina last, hardly the longest absence he’d endured, but it felt different this time, like the days exacting a heavier toll on him. He felt cold in the very core of his body.

Tom lifted a leaden hand and drew the Galleon from his pocket, the one he could use to contact Marina if he so chose. He turned it over in his long fingers and watching the firelight gleam on its golden surface.

It was so tempting.

The thought of seeing her again felt like looking up from the bottom of a cold lake at the web of dancing light at the surface; enticing, nearly irresistible, the promise of a place where he could breathe again, feel warm again, escape the crushing pressure of the water around him. His mind raced back to their last meeting and the things she’d told him, the things _he’d_ told _her,_ the way she’d touched him afterwards.

It had scared him the first time she’d touched him like that – her fingers brushing his cheek that Christmas Eve, so lightly that he’d felt like shivering. It was the same when she would card her fingers through his hair, or press her lips gently to his skin – but that was the way she always touched him; carefully, reverently, like he was something precious.

He’d never been touched like that before. How good it had felt had taken him by surprise, so good that it had wiped the tension from his body and turned his mind blank. He’d not stopped craving it since.

It was foolish to start dwelling on Marina but he couldn’t help it. His thoughts spiralled, sank into a self-indulgent slew of memories, the most preponderant of which were those of their most recent meeting and the feeling of her pressed against him on the couch, her soft hair between his fingers and her warm skin beneath his lips, the trepidation he couldn’t shake when he was with her, the hunger he couldn’t sate, the sounds she would make when he touched her, the heat –

Tom grit his teeth and glancing over at the sliver of space beneath his door. A shadow moved there, a figure slipping away silently.

Voldemort had him watched sometimes, guarded, another Horcrux locked up deep within a vault, hidden beneath the floorboards, sequestered away in a secret cave. Tom suddenly thought of the little cardboard box he’d kept hidden in the bottom of his closet at Wool’s, filled with trophies from the torments he’d inflicted upon the other orphans, prizes that he’d collected. It was almost ironic that he’d become one himself.

Tom slipped the coin back into his pocket and let out a long, slow breath as his head fell back against the chair again.

_“I’m going to miss you…”_

His lips pressed together firmly. It had been such a bad idea to start this with her, it made everything harder, the time pass slower, the costs steeper, the pain deeper. The fire crackled and spat quietly before him like it was afraid of drawing his attention as he stared blankly at the ornate chandelier and silver-gilded ceiling above him.

_“That’s how you make me feel… like I’m home.”_

Maybe he’d regret it, if it didn’t feel so good.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Tom lowered the text he’d been pouring over for the past two days, a faded, battered book with peeling gold lettering on the front reading _Aglæccræft ond Balocræft._ It contained some of the foulest and most despicable magic that he had ever heard of, which was no mean endorsement coming from him; though soul-capturing and soul-stealing invocations were most conspicuously absent from its yellowed pages.

His attention had, however, been captured by something strange, and he frowned at the door to the Manor’s library. He could hear movement, quickened steps and hushed voices, and somewhere in the distance of the great house came a long, anguished cry of pain. Tom snapped the book shut and was out into the corridor the next second, catching sight of someone swiftly hurrying past.

“Antonin,” Tom said sharply, “what’s going on?”

Dolohov’s left arm twitched as he hastened down the hallway, barely glancing in Tom’s direction. “The Dark Lord summons us,” he muttered.

Tom followed at once, too unnerved by the terror in Dolohov’s eyes to reprimand him for his insolent address. In the main hall he found more Death Eaters striding quickly towards the drawing room, their faces drawn and nervous. Something was happening. Far beneath Tom’s icy mask, anxiety stirred. Had Voldemort finally discovered him? Had his time finally come?

His fears were only somewhat assuaged upon entering the drawing room and his eyes fell upon the figure kneeling before Voldemort, a tiny, cowering goblin behind whom the Death Eaters were gathered. Tom came to a stop at Voldemort’s side, clasping his hands behind his back as he assessed the goblin impassively; the beady, black eyes held no cunning spark now, fixed on the ground in terror, pale lips visibly trembling.

“Speak,” Voldemort commanded in a cold whisper. “Why has Bellatrix brought you here, goblin?”

“My Lord,” the goblin stammered, hands pressed together as if in prayer, “m-my Lord, I bring… terrible n-news… there h-has been an attack, my Lord, th-they broke into the Lestrange v-vault –”

Tom’s heart leapt as Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and a sound like metal groaning under pressure reverberated around the room. The goblin cowered, his hands trembling as he dipped his head.

“What did you say to me?” Voldemort breathed.

But the goblin was shaking too much to answer. Tom stared down at him witheringly in accordance with Voldemort’s obvious displeasure, but his thoughts were racing – Hufflepuff’s cup, the last Horcrux, Marina’s allusions –

“Say it again,” Voldemort said with deceptive softness, “say it again!”

"M-my Lord, m-my Lord... we t-tried to s-stop them... Im-impostors, my Lord... broke-broke into the – into the Lestranges' vault..."

"Impostors?” Voldemort repeated, voice suddenly razor-sharp. “What impostors? I thought Gringotts had ways of revealing impostors? Who were they?"

"It was... it was... the P-Potter b-boy and the t-two accomplices..."

"And they took?" demanded Voldemort, stepping closer to the trembling goblin who was yet to lift his eyes from the floor, but Tom knew. Tom knew what they had taken, that this was the last moment before Voldemort knew of the attack on his Horcruxes, that his desperate line of defence against death had been discovered – "Tell me! What did they take?"

"A... a s-small golden c-cup m-my Lord..."

Voldemort’s rage was immediate and deadly, his screams mingling with the cries of terror and agony as the Elder Wand wrought his fury upon those before him. The goblin was the first, and the Death Eaters who were not quick enough to flee were next, all swept away in the wave of his indiscriminate wrath. Tom quickly backed away, watching the bodies fall in horror as the room flashed brilliant green again and again, as curses split skin and tore bone, and the smell of blood hung thick in the air by the time that Voldemort finally stilled.

But he did not remain still for long. Voldemort rounded on Tom, pointing the Elder Wand at his chest. “You,” Voldemort whispered.

Tom did not reply, his heart beating fast and shallow as he stared at the wand aimed at him and the twisted, white face of the figure wielding it.

“You must not leave this house,” breathed Voldemort, stepping towards him with a frenzied look of fear in his eyes and leaving bloodied footprints behind him. “You will not leave, do you understand me?”

Relief swept through him. “Yes, my Lord,” Tom said calmly.

Voldemort turned and began to pace before the bodies littering the ground, blood seeping from their ears and noses, from cuts and gaping wounds in their flesh. “They have the cup…” Voldemort whispered. “They know of the Horcruxes… surely this is Dumbledore’s work, Dumbledore who always saw…”

Voldemort paused and then swivelled back to Tom, red eyes wide. “You never told him of your true nature?” he demanded sharply, “you never mentioned that there might be the others?”

“Never, my Lord,” Tom lied, frowning.

“But he suspected?” Voldemort pressed, fingers visibly tightening on the Elder Wand.

“He always posited that you had delved into dark, unknown magic, my Lord, but he never mentioned any specifics to me,” Tom said evenly, allowing concordant memories to flicker at his mind’s surface where Voldemort might see them if he glimpsed into his thoughts.

Voldemort surveyed him for a moment, and then turned away again, evidently satisfied. “The boy cannot have destroyed it yet,” he said coldly, resuming his pacing, blood staining his pale, bare feet. “I would have felt it, surely, and he cannot have a weapon powerful enough to accomplish such a feat… but I must check on the others…”

Tom blinked unaffectedly. He and Dumbledore had long since replaced the empty Horcruxes where Voldemort had once hidden them, but there was a chance that Voldemort would feel the difference, feel the absence of his soul in those treasures when he touched them just as Tom could, that he would realise the truth, that he might begin to suspect that Tom had something to do with –

“No one knew of the Gaunts,” Voldemort murmured, “and no one could know of the cave… unless Dumbledore made the connection, unless…”

Voldemort’s red eyes lingered once again on Tom’s face, seeming undecided in how much suspicion should be levied upon him.

“I will double the protections on the others,” Voldemort said coolly, casting an impassive eye over the corpses around him. “The ring first, it was always the least secure of my hiding places… and the cave, since Dumbledore knew of my history with the orphanage… the diadem at least is safe, since the boy cannot enter Hogwarts without detection.” Voldemort’s lips curved into an ugly scowl. “It was foolish to trust Bellatrix and Malfoy with such a responsibility… I will not make the mistake again.”

Voldemort turned to him once more, drawing taller, Elder Wand brandished in his skeletal hand, and for a fleeting moment, Tom once more suspected that he might strike him. “I will take Nagini,” Voldemort murmured, “you must warn Snape that the boy might try to enter the school, Tom, tell him that I will be there soon…”

Without another word, Voldemort strode from the room.

Tom exhaled, heart still beating hard. He didn’t have much time, there was a very good chance that in mere minutes, Voldemort would know that his Horcruxes had been reduced back to mere artefacts, and Tom’s veneer of veracity was finally broken. He tore from the room, mind whirring. Voldemort was going to Hogwarts, and he thought that Potter would attempt to go there too – though the boy had no reason to go there, the diadem having long since been reclaimed.

But if Voldemort was about to learn that his Horcruxes had been dismantled and Potter had finally stolen the cup, was this it? Was this the last moment before –

Tom froze.

The lavish corridor seemed to swirl before him.

Suddenly, Marina’s strange behaviour in Riddle House had a very different, very disturbing explanation.

She’d said that things hadn’t changed much from what had happened in her books. She’d only started acting strangely once he’d told her that it would be at least two weeks before he could see her again. And what had she said, that day they’d fought about Hufflepuff’s cup?

_“What are we even doing, then? Waiting around for shit to hit the fan? For Harry to show up and start slinging spells at You-Know-Who so we know the final showdown’s about to begin?”_

Had it been one of her jokes? Or slip of the tongue?

Marina’s stricken expression in Riddle House swam before his eyes.

_“I’m going to miss you.”_

And all at once, Tom knew.

He knew that the final battle was about to begin. It was finally upon him and he still hadn’t found a way to draw out Voldemort’s soul, which meant…

He was about to die.

A tempest of emotions wracked Tom’s body as he beelined for his chambers. What was worse? The fact that he had failed to find a way to prevent his own death, or the fact that Marina had concealed its imminence from him? That it had been their final meeting, and he hadn’t even realised? Or perhaps the impossible reality that he would likely never see her again, that he was going to die without even having said goodbye? That she'd _known_ and she hadn't said a word?

The lack of answers infuriated him further and Tom angrily told himself that if the battle really had come at last, that it was certainly not the time to anguish over such frivolities as the machinations of a petty, _ridiculous_ romance – 

“Master Riddle!”

Tom wheeled around. “What?” he snarled.

Bellatrix faltered. “What is his word?” she asked slowly, peering at him. “What commands from the Dark Lord?”

“He is enacting precautions,” Tom snapped, giving her a very cold look that made her take a deferential step back. “We must alert Severus that the boy may attempt to enter the school.”

“I will do so,” Bellatrix said quickly.

Tom nodded curtly. “He is displeased, Bellatrix,” he couldn’t resist adding, the unbearable storm of emotion in his chest seeping out and turning his tone to ice.

Bellatrix’s eyes widened in fear, but before she could speak, Tom turned from her and resumed his trek to his chambers. He couldn’t think of a reason that Potter would go to Hogwarts, but if the final confrontation was soon to begin, it seemed as likely a battleground as any. He stalked into his chambers and slammed the door hard behind him, not bothering to uphold his act of composure – it would only be interpreted as anger at the robbery of Gringotts, anyway.

Tom let out a single, humourless laugh to the empty room. Suddenly, Marina’s insistence that they might have a chance at breaking into the place made a lot more sense too, considering that she’d evidently known that exactly such a thing could come to pass.

He crossed the room in five long strides and seized a small, golden trinket from his mantelpiece – Marina’s Wardore. It didn’t matter if anyone noticed that it was missing now. Shoving it into his pocket, Tom’s fingers brushed the Galleon. He hesitated.

Should he call on her? Would it be too risky? Voldemort was bound to have someone watching him, someone making sure he stayed where he should be –

The door that he’d just slammed suddenly burst open.

“Master Riddle,” gasped Lucius Malfoy, “the Potter boy – the alarm was triggered – he is at Hogsmeade –”

Tom stared at the ashen-faced man in disbelief. _Why? Why would he go there if he knows that the diadem –_

But yet another realisation struck him hard. Potter could see into Voldemort’s mind, he might already know of Voldemort’s intention to check on the Horcruxes, that he intended to go to Hogwarts. Potter’s friends were there, his allies, and Voldemort’s fury would be levied upon all if he discovered that his Horcruxes had been dismantled.

“Go,” Tom bit out, “take the others and go, the Dark Lord will be at the school soon.”

Malfoy’s expression flickered with uncertainty. “And – and you, Master Riddle?”

Tom scowled and turned away. “I am bidden to remain here.”

“Remain here? You will not be accompanying –?”

“Would you have me disobey the Dark Lord, Malfoy?” Tom hissed, rounding on him.

Malfoy baulked. “N-no, Master Riddle, of _course_ not –”

“I said go,” Tom interrupted coldly.

Malfoy nodded and stumbled quickly from the room in his haste to obey. Tom glared after him a moment and then wrenched the Galleon from his pocket. Uncertainty joined the other waves of emotion crashing in his chest as he stared at it, wondering if he should call her, if he could even get away without being detected after being expressly ordered to stay put, if he even _wanted_ to talk to her after what she’d kept from him –

Distantly he could hear the cracks of Death Eaters Apparating at the edge of the long driveway. He needed to make a decision. Quickly.

Slipping the coin back into his pocket, Tom took a handful of Floo Powder from the crystal bowl on the mantelpiece and threw it into the hearth. Nothing happened. His jaw tensed and he let out an annoyed breath. The connection to the Floo Network had been severed, meaning that he’d have to leave Malfoy Manor undetected in order to Apparate, a highly improbable accomplishment given that Voldemort likely had Death Eaters stationed at every entrance to guard him. 

The time had come then. There was no use delaying any longer. Tom lifted his wand and wordlessly summoned the long-hidden phial that he and Dumbledore had stashed away, a little glass bottle inside of which was a single, long, white-blond hair.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The flask of Polyjuice Potion took time to find, hidden deep in the Malfoys' potions stores under several extremely complex warding charms that had even Tom struggling to break them – but he had it. He stole back up the stairs and into the hallway, making his way through to the entrance hall and almost immediately being spotted.

“I’ve been looking for you, Master Riddle,” Mulciber said loudly from the other side of the hall, quickly approaching. “Thought you’d run off!”

“Run off?” Tom repeated, eyes narrowing. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying, Mulciber.”

The pale, weedy man’s demeanour immediately shifted into something much more nervous. “I’ll accompany you to your room, then,” he mumbled.

Tom scoffed but allowed Mulciber to sheepishly trail behind him up to his chambers, shutting the door right in Mulciber’s face.

Placing the flask of Polyjuice Potion on the little table by the fireplace, Tom quickly withdrew the glass phial and uncorked it, using his wand to lift the bright blond hair from inside and carefully guiding it into the potion; it immediately began to fizz and bubble and Tom peered inside apprehensively. It was not a very large flask. He doubted that he’d have much more than an hour before the potion lost its effects.

Tom cast one last glance over his shoulder at the door where Mulciber was likely still sculking. He grimaced, rapidly assessing his possible courses of action, considered waiting for the man to leave…

But he had already wasted too much time, and there was only so long before Voldemort would hear of Potter’s arrival at Hogsmeade and turn his attention to the school. Tom lifted the flask and swallowed the entire contents in one, suppressing a cough at the foul taste of the lumpy, fetid liquid. Immediately his skin was melting and boiling around him, and he only just managed to keep his presence of mind long enough to cast a quick muffling charm at the door to stop Mulciber from hearing his rapid breathing.

An agonising moment later, the heat faded and he pushed himself up from where he’d fallen to his forearms on the floor. He noticed his hands first, now thin and narrow with Narcissa’s long, oval nails and skin paler than even his own. The hair was next, falling over his shoulders in a long, white sheet. Tom stood slightly shakily and took a stabilising breath, drawing his wand and rounding on the door. He did not have long.

With a flick of his wand, the door sprang open and Mulciber glanced around in surprise, barely having time to look confused at Narcissa’s sudden appearance before Tom had Stunned him. His body hadn’t even hit the parquet floor before Tom sent it sliding into his chambers and locked the door behind him. He kept his wand in his hand as he fluidly made his way down the hall, passing several Death Eaters on his way and trying not to hold his breath each time. He’d not had time to adjust his appearance but hopefully, no one would notice that his Death Eater robes were falling a little too loosely on Narcissa’s much narrower frame, or the good inch that was trailing on the ground at her slightly shorter stature.

Steeling himself, Tom rounded the corner and began to cross the extravagant entrance hall, giving a slight nod to the two Death Eaters by the door as he strode past – but the Death Eaters just nodded back and resumed their slightly bored surveillance of the hall. Tom exhaled slowly as the gravel crunched underfoot, eyes fixed on the edge of the drive before him, when finally, _finally –_

He Apparated the second he crossed the boundary and the world twisted before settling into a sight as achingly familiar as it was jarring to see again – the tiny, cramped room above Tomes and Scrolls where Marina had once lived. He stared at the darkened, quiet room for a moment, his eyes lingering on the rickety wooden seat at the desk by the window. 

Tom’s brow suddenly furrowed. The ash from the hearth spilled across the floor in a messy smear and he could see small footprints leading from it to the door beside him. Someone had very recently stepped through the fireplace. Someone who had to have already known about the room, who could not Apparate and had to use the Floo network instead. Someone who, just like him, would have been told to stay hidden and safe, would have been left behind, and would have stubbornly found another way to get to Hogwarts anyway.

Tom’s heart dropped as he turned sharply and took the narrow stairs down to the bookshop two at a time. From the window he could see Death Eaters patrolling the street in droves, clearly still hunting for Potter, but he threw the door open without a moment’s hesitation, no longer caring about setting off the alarms.

A deafening, piercing wail shattered the night and the Death Eaters wheeled around with their wands raised. Tom deflected their onslaught of curses with an elegant flick of his wand. “Step aside,” he commanded in Narcissa’s high, clear voice over the Caterwauling Charm. “You will lower your wands this instant.”

They faltered. “Narcissa… what a surprise,” the first muttered as he waved his wand and silencing the charm – though he did not look appeased, still peering at Tom suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

Tom thought quickly. “The Dark Lord will be at the school soon,” he breathed, looking up at the glittering castle standing high against the star-strewn sky. “He commands us to his side.”

“He’s coming here?” the second Death Eater demanded. “Why?”

Tom fixed them with a derisive look. “He did not see fit to inform you of his plans, then,” he said softly, “I see…”

The Death Eaters shifted uneasily, shooting each other sideways glances. “Why have you come alone, Narcissa?" one of them asked suspiciously, “where are –”

“I know that you are preparing to fight.”

Tom froze and the Death Eaters looked around in a panic as Voldemort’s voice rang impossibly loudly around the valley, down the streets of Hogsmeade, resonating in every corner –

“Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.”

Tom’s jaw tensed. It was impossible, but it was happening, Voldemort was here and he had to know, he _had_ to know that the Horcruxes were gone –

“Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight.”

Tom strode forward the moment voice quelled, bypassing the stricken Death Eaters without another glance. “Out of my way,” he sneered. This time they didn’t bother challenging him, falling into step behind him instead and following him up towards the castle.

The journey was agonising, each step drawing him closer but too slow, _too slow,_ his skin starting to prickle as they made their way up the broad stone steps. Tom sped up, the sounds of battle already audible from the bottom of the hill with flashes of bright light and cries and shouts echoing alongside them. The battle had already begun.

As they approached, the cacophony only became more deafening and the scene before him drew clearer – swarms of Death Eaters were storming the front of the school as huge waves of a dark curse coursed over the stone walls, the entire castle trembling under its force. The doors to the school had been blasted open and the Death Eaters were pouring inside, curses flying thick and fast.

A thunderous roar split the night as the side of the castle suddenly exploded, chunks of stone the size of houses flung into the sky. Tom watched in horror as Acromantula scuttled forward with sickening speed up the sides of the castle and through the gaping wound in its walls. Screams could be heard from inside and he felt dread twist in his stomach as the ghostly forms of Dementors drifted towards the hole, starless silhouettes against the sky.

They were losing.

Tom sped through the front doors into the chaos within, viscerally aware that he had mere moments before the Polyjuice Potion faded as he frantically scanned the crowd, searching for Potter with the cup, for Marina to make sure she was okay, for Lupin, or McGonagall, _someone –_

He deflected a curse from a tight-faced student, then another from her friend before turning away to trek deeper into the castle, almost immediately coming across a very familiar face in a fierce battle with four Death Eaters at once. McGonagall’s wand cut through the air, her expression set in grim focus with a large, bleeding cut on her cheek as one of the Death Eater’s heads suddenly erupted into angry burns, screaming as he fell to the floor, clawing at his skin –

McGonagall rounded on the last three but Tom saw the writhing Death Eater on the floor point his wand haphazardly in McGonagall’s direction.

“Expelliarmus,” he said sharply, sending the man’s wand flying, “Detereto.”

The man’s skin burst with huge, purple blisters and he let out a choking breath before falling unconscious. Tom disarmed the second Death Eater before they had the chance to react to Narcissa’s apparent betrayal, and McGonagall spared him a single, suspicious glance before resuming the duel. The three remaining Death Eaters lay unconscious within moments and McGonagall immediately turned her wand on Tom.

“What is the meaning of this, Narcissa?” she demanded coldly as sounds of battle echoed down the corridor from both sides.

But Tom could feel the potion fading, his skin burning as he doubled over, his hair prickling as it shrank back into his head and turned black, his bones shifting with a nauseating ache as he grew taller again –

“Good to… see you again, Professor,” he managed to say, squinting at her as the last of the potion left him.

“Tom?” McGonagall breathed, wide-eyed. “Is that you?”

“Have you seen Potter?” Tom asked a little breathlessly, forcing himself upright. “He – he has the cup, Professor, I can still –”

But McGonagall ignored him, rushing forward and pulling him into a tight embrace that took him entirely by surprise. She quickly pulled back, frowning and adjusting her robes very busily. “It’s good that you’re here,” she said sternly, “we could really use you.”

Tom bit back a smile. “At this stage, the most use I can pose is by reclaiming the Horcrux,” he said, glancing down the corridor where a duel was raging between a group of students and a pair of Death Eaters.

“Yes of course,” McGonagall said, lifting her wand and heading towards the duel. “Potter gave the cup to Granger before he left.”

“He _left?”_ Tom echoed sharply, following her.

“So I’ve heard!” she shouted over her shoulder, throwing a curse at a Death Eater and dodging the retaliation. “He’s working on something to help with the battle!”

As he looked around the body-littered corridor, Tom couldn’t help but grimly hope that whatever Potter had in store, it was something big.

The Death Eaters fell before his and McGonagall’s combined prowess, but the toll of the battle was clear. Tom recognised Greyback’s work, a few mangled, broken bodies strewn amongst the casualties. He grimaced, wondering again where Marina could be, if he could have accidentally missed her in the gore of the fallen.

“Tom!” bellowed Lupin, in fierce combat with Dolohov who caught sight of Tom and grinned with malice. The grin quickly turned to shock and then fury when Tom deflected one of the hexes aimed at Lupin.

“It’s been a while, Lupin,” Tom said with a quick smile as he took his place at Lupin’s side.

“Good to see you, my boy!” Lupin shouted.

Dolohov’s expression turned uglier, but Rowle and Rodolphus Lestrange had suddenly joined him, and Tom’s attention was suddenly fully occupied with trying to hold them from progressing further into the school.

“The younger students?” Tom called between hexes.

“Evacuated!” Lupin cried back, blocking an Imperius curse and returning with a brutal mauling jinx that caught Dolohov’s non-wand hand and instantly elicited a wide splatter of blood.

“And Marina?” Tom ground out, hitting Lestrange’s shoes with a curse that made them sink fangs into the man’s feet and sent him to his knees, crying out in pain.

“She’s _here?”_ Lupin exclaimed, looking aghast.

“I think so,” Tom said tightly, Stunning Rowle and turning his efforts entirely on Lestrange.

“What are you doing, Riddle?” snarled Lestrange. “What trickery is this?”

Tom ignored him, aiming a bludgeoning hex at his shoulder and hearing the joint shatter when it made impact. Lestrange let out a shriek of agony, his eyes unfocused as he struggled to point his wand at Tom’s face.

“The Dark Lord will kill you for this,” he spat.

“I doubt that,” Tom said coolly, and Lestrange was blasted backwards with the force of his Stunning curse, hitting the wall and crumpling to the floor.

Tom took a breath, and turned back around to help Lupin –

**_“NO!”_ **

The scream broke through the sounds of battle with ease, heart-wrenching and raw, the sound filling Tom’s body with ice.

Lupin was falling, his eyes glassy and unseeing, hitting the floor and remaining there unnaturally still. His wand rolled from his limp hand.

A woman with purple hair – Tonks, he realised – was running towards Lupin’s body with tears streaming down her face, too entrenched in her anguish to notice Dolohov lifting his wand at her –

“Expulso,” Tom breathed, and blue light exploded from his wand, catching Dolohov and throwing him back. “Viridiclava.”

Dolohov screamed as the bones in his arm fractured, but Tom didn’t cease walking towards him, anger white-hot and blinding, Lupin’s dead body swimming before his eyes –

“Crucio,” he whispered.

Dolohov writhed, choking, twitching beneath his wand but the anger didn’t wane, Tonks’ grief-stricken cries didn’t fade –

“Expelliarmus!” Bellatrix shrieked.

Tom only just managed to lift his hand and deflect the spell wandlessly, stumbling back at the impact.

“You dare,” Bellatrix hissed, wand trembling in her hand trained directly at Tom’s heart. “You _dare_ betray –”

“Spare me the theatrics, Bellatrix,” Tom breathed, rounding on her. He too was trembling, anger still flowing hot and all-consuming in his veins.

Tonks stood, tear-streaked face wrought with fury as she lifted her wand at Bellatrix, who sneered.

“Dead, is he?” she crooned. “Not much of a loss, is it, your flea-bitten dog of a husband –”

Tonks roared, wordless and furious, blistering flames erupted from her wand in a huge wave that encompassed the room, so hot that Tom leaned away, squinting against the bright, burning light.

Bellatrix split the wave with a slash of her wand, her sneer gone. “Avada Ke-”

“Confrigo,” Tom said sharply.

The wall beside her exploded, but she reduced the debris to sand at the last second before rounding back on them with a wild look in her eyes. “Imperi-”

“REDUCTO!” screamed Tonks. “IGNITELUM!”

“Tom!” shouted Arthur Weasley as he slid to a halt behind them. "Tonks! What's –" His eyes lingered on Lupin’s face for a single, fraught moment before turning with fury to Bellatrix.

“Avada –” Bellatrix tried again, but Arthur was quicker.

“Impedimentia!” he cried. “Auferdigis!”

Slowly, the three of them forced her back down the corridor, but three more Death Eaters quickly fell into place behind her and her sneer was steadily building again.

“Got a taste for dog, do you?” she taunted, throwing a blood-curdling curse at Tonks, “shame that Sirius was your cousin, _Dora,_ he was just your type _–”_

“Don’t listen to her, Tonks!” bellowed Arthur, but Tonks’ hair was turning black, her expression one of unimaginable fury.

“What about Greyback?” shouted Bellatrix, her wand moving so fast that it was a blur. “You don’t mind, so long as they’ve got four legs –”

But Bellatrix was interrupted by a voice that stilled every wand, every student, Professor, and Death Eater alike, a voice that made Tom feel cold at once.

“You have fought valiantly,” Voldemort said, so loudly that the rubble around them trembled and shifted. “Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately.”

Bellatrix hissed sharply, her fine features twisting with disappointment.

“You have one hour,” Voldemort’s voice resounded, “dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

A beat of silence passed,

“Until next time, little niece,” Bellatrix grinned with a mocking little bow.

Tonks glared at her, tear tracks through the dust on her cheeks, and turned back to where Lupin lay behind them.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” Bellatrix screamed.

“NO!” Arthur bellowed.

But it was too late. Bellatrix let out a little laugh as she fled back down the corridor, and Tonks fell to the floor before Lupin, dead.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Arthur took Tonks’ body, and Tom took Lupin’s. The walk to the Great Hall was longer than Tom even thought possible, the corpses Levitating beside them making the crowd part and gasp, students with their hands pressed to their mouths, tears streaming down their cheeks.

They laid Tonks and Lupin side by side in the line of the dead in the middle of the Hall, next to the body of a tiny girl in pink pyjamas. Arthur let out a long, shaky breath and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder, but he could not speak a word in response. Coldness had saturated him in the aftermath of his anger, and yet still more people trickled into the Hall, carrying bodies and helping their limping companions towards the raised platform at the front where the matron was treating injuries. The toll had been worse than he’d realised.

His eyes numbly slid down the line of faces, strangely peaceful in death, most too young, all of them too young –

Tom’s breath hitched.

His heart stopped.

There, at the end of the line next to the raised platform, he could see another body. A body that he could barely comprehend.

Long, golden blonde hair was splayed out in an arch around her head where she lay. She was motionless, pale, her eyes closed as if asleep, blood seeping from the gory wound on her stomach visible through the torn jumper she wore, a black jumper now so heavily saturated with blood that the pale yellow T on the front was rendered nearly indiscernible.

It couldn't be, and yet it was, his legs moving him towards her without conscious thought, her name on his lips even though he could not hear it, couldn't hear anything except a relentless ringing and the hard thuds of his heart.

It couldn't be. She shouldn't be here. It wasn't her.

But it was.

It was Marina.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  WHOOO BOY TEAM THAT'S A BIG OLE CHAP  
>  Well, no excuses for the two month absense, just massively lost my mojo, but hey, that's life sometimes *does a kickflip*  
>  Lets do this, final few chapters, I'm here and I'm ready to get hurt again.  
>  If you come at me for specifics in the BoH not exactly matching up, my excuse is that this is my AU and we're playing my rules lmao.  
>  Thanks for your amazing comments, it's what managed to bring me back in the end.  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	45. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: blood, discussion/depiction of death._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **THERE WAS SOMETHING** damp all over her, the warm, thick, sticky feeling of blood bubbling numbly from her stomach and plastering her shirt to her skin. The taste of it saturated her mouth, her fingers were cold, and she couldn’t feel her feet. Distantly she knew that was bad but she was too tired to panic.

The cold was familiar. She’d felt it before, that same deep heaviness creeping in from her limbs and erasing a bit more of her as it inched inwards to her heart. She could almost remember it, the glimmer of a memory of waking up in a strange room feeling like this… and Dumbledore… she could have sworn that Dumbledore was there –

Marina’s thoughts snagged. She could hear something, a voice from somewhere far, far above her, muted and dun like she was deep underwater and they were at the surface, someplace warm and clear and unreachable.

She knew that voice.

But over the muted trill of magic and the flashes of red light bleeding through her closed eyelids, something else very strange was happening. A wobbly, dizzy feeling was taking over her like her body had become the heatwaves rising from sweltering tarmac, the noise around her fading out all at once and the world going utterly silent.

“ – her awake!” another voice said suddenly, so loud and so close that it frightened her. “Make sure she doesn’t slip away again!”

Marina felt hands against her face and with insurmountable effort she compelled her eyes to open. It was him. He was here. God he really was beautiful, even looking like that, all tense and afraid with his eyes wide and his lips tight, red all over his hands and down his neck.

“Tom,” she said numbly, battling against her heavy eyes drifting shut.

“Stay awake,” Tom commanded firmly, pushing her blood-stuck hair off her face. “Do you understand? Stay awake for me.”

Marina nodded, too tired to speak, when pain suddenly erupted across her body and she moaned in agony, blind under its crescendo.

“What did you do?” she could hear Tom demanding. “What’s happening?”

“The bite is not responding as it should,” the other person muttered. “This may take some time.”

“She doesn’t _have_ time!”

The pain faded just enough for her to crack her eyes open and he was the first thing she saw. The only thing she saw. “Tom,” she whispered again, the tears on her face feeling boiling hot and deadened numbness still reaching in from her extremities, getting closer and closer…

“Marina,” came Tom’s voice, loud and urgent, shaking her. “Marina! Stay awake!”

But she was so tired and he was drifting away, fading out as she sank into that mute cold, calm and quiet, still and heavy. By the time she realised that she couldn’t hear Tom’s voice anymore, couldn’t feel his hand against her cheek anymore, it was too late.

The world returned in a sudden roar and Marina gasped hard, immediately descending into ragged coughs as the world spun and the pain crashed back through her. Through the madness someone was pulling her up against them, their arms around her tight and firm, and even though the world was a blur of pain and light and sound, she knew that it was him. She could feel his chest moving with heavy breaths, his hands shaking where they held her to him, and the vibrations of his voice despite the numb deafness thrumming in her ears.

Marina reached up her leaden arms and let them fall limply around his shoulders, pressing her face against his neck, breathing him in, holding onto him like she was holding onto life.

It took a few moments before she could make out what he was saying.

“You died,” he was whispering into her hair, over and over, his voice hollow and panicked, his arms tightening around her. “You died… you… you died…”

“I’m fine,” Marina murmured tiredly against his skin, trying to wave her hand dismissively – though she wasn’t entirely sure it moved at all.

Tom pulled back and stared at her, his restless fingers moving to her cheek and his eyes wide as he scanned her face. Marina frowned. He looked very scared. “Are you okay?” she asked, squinting as she tried to dispel the blurriness from her vision.

Tom gave a single incredulous, mirthless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Am _I_ okay?” he repeated. “Marina, do you know where you are?”

“Hogwarts,” she said dumbly, trying to look around. “Did – what happened? Where’s –”

“Stop moving,” came a sharp voice from her other side. A very stern looking woman was leaning over her, greying hair falling from what had once been immaculate rolls and her wand moving at lightning speed. “You've lost a lot of blood and if you move around too much there is a very good chance you will pass out, do you understand?”

Marina blinked at her. “Madam Pomfrey?”

Madam Pomfrey gave her a tight-lipped nod. “Yes, I remember you, too,” she said quietly, brow furrowed in concentration as she focused on something on Marina’s stomach. “Worst case of time sickness I’d ever seen.”

“I managed to top that, actually,” Marina muttered, tiredly letting her head fall against Tom’s chest and closing her eyes. “Should have seen me last September.”

“This is hardly the time to be procacious, Marina,” Tom said disparagingly.

It took an insurmountable effort but Marina lifted her head to meet his gaze. _“Procacious,_ huh?” she echoed with a very feeble half-grin.

Tom let out a very long breath as he looked down at her, visibly deadlocked between berating her further and relief that she was even capable of inappropriately timed jokes at all.

“Drink this,” Pomfrey interrupted, tipping a small phial of dark purple liquid into Marina’s mouth that she half-choked down. “Blood-replenishing potion.”

The second the phial was empty Pomfrey stood and left without another word, and Marina watched as she crouched over a nearby student with blood streaming from a cut on his temple. The sounds of people sobbing in the hushed dull that hung over the Hall were suddenly unignorable.

“This is the hour he gives, isn’t it,” she said, staring at the wincing boy as Pomfrey slowly charmed his skin to stitch together. “To take care of the injured.”

“Yes,” Tom said tightly, “Marina, why are you _here?_ ”

“I couldn’t just let it happen,” she said defensively, “I thought I could help.”

“Help,” Tom echoed flatly through gritted teeth. “You were mauled by an Acromantula.”

Marina’s stomach twisted and suddenly she was remembering the explosion that had torn the world into deafening thunder and crashing rock, the air thick and grey with dust in its aftermath and the sound of eight huge legs scuttling towards her, teeth seizing her and a searing, burning pain.

“You were the _one_ person who knew what was going to happen here today,” Tom was saying angrily, “the _only one_ who should have know _better_ than to come here –”

But she wasn’t paying attention to him. Another memory had crested. The moments before the explosion, seeing the twins with Percy and Charlie duelling in the corridor, hearing the shouts and knowing, _knowing_ what was coming next.

“ – _told_ you to stop being so impetuous and yet you _insist_ on being _chronically recalcitrant_ –”

“Where are the Weasleys?” Marina interrupted numbly, her tone so dead that Tom immediately stopped talking, his brow furrowing as he assessed her.

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “Arthur should be here. Why?”

Marina seized at him and tried to pull herself up in a scramble, but Tom relentlessly guided her back down. “Marina, stop, Pomfrey said –”

“Tom,” she said, her frantic gaze settling on him. “Help me find them.”

Tom hesitated, his frown deepening as he stared back at her – but he gave a small, curt nod and slowly helped her to her feet.

It didn’t take long. They were huddled around a body in the middle of the Hall and Marina’s skin felt aflame as her blood turned to ice at the sight. Even from a distance she could see Mrs Weasley sobbing as she lay across the body, Mr Weasley kneeling beside her, Ginny standing in tears with Fred and George on either side, their arms around her shoulders and their faces blank and broken –

Marina faltered, drawing her and Tom to a halt. “That’s…” she whispered hollowly, staring at the twins. “That’s not…”

Her heart lurched so hard that her vision swam and her eyes dropped to the body beneath Mrs Weasley’s prostrate form, his skin too pallid beneath his freckles, his closed eyes too still on his lifeless face.

“No,” she murmured, “no, no, _no –”_

She didn’t feel the stone beneath her knees as she fell beside him, couldn’t hear Mrs Weasley’s sobs anymore, could not see for the tears blinding her, and for a moment it was as if Charlie had taken her with him into death and the world wouldn’t touch either of them ever again.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Time ceased to pass, the steady succession of seconds dissolving into a single endless moment that swallowed everything. Charlie’s unnatural stillness yawned before her and she stared at the smattering of scars on his limp arm lying at his side. Tears ached in her eyes at the sight of them, moments of his vivacity and adventures etched as white footprints on his tanned skin. What a path he’d been walking, full of brightness and vitality. How senseless that he would never take another step.

There was no knowing how long she stayed there but when she could think about anything other than the body before her, she realised that Tom was beside her with a hand on her waist. “Where’s the cup?” Marina asked blankly.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“We need to find it,” she said, forcing herself to stand on unfeeling legs. “Now.”

“The cup?” someone whispered suddenly.

Marina turned to see a stranger standing with Ginny whom she recognised instantly. She had a mass of twisting, frizzy brown hair, warm brown skin, and dark, intelligent eyes.

“Hufflepuff’s cup,” said Marina, too numb to even feel excited.

“How do you know about that?” Hermione asked slowly.

Marina shared a glance with Tom. “Wait here,” she muttered to him before turning and motioning Hermione away from the Weasleys.

Hermione followed, casting Tom a curious look over her shoulder.

“We know about the Horcruxes,” Marina said flatly, rounding on her when they reached a quiet corner of the Hall.

“How?” Hermione asked at once, eyes sharpening.

Marina nodded over at Tom. “That’s Tom Riddle.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide and her head whipped around to look at him. “That’s young V-Voldemort?” she whispered, aghast.

Marina grit her teeth. “No,” she said curtly, “but I understand the confusion. The point is that he can destroy the Horcrux. Or more accurately I suppose… he can fix it.”

“How?” Hermione said again, still staring at Tom who was talking to Bill in low, grave tones that didn’t travel.

“Long story,” muttered Marina, “but he can.”

Hermione turned back at Marina. “How does he even exist?” she asked, still looking horrified. “Did Voldemort make him?”

Anger flared alongside the impossible mess of emotions in Marina’s chest. “No,” she said brutally.

Hermione visibly bristled. “You’re very defensive of him,” she said accusingly.

“Do you want us to get rid of the cup or not?” Marina snapped.

Hermione crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Who exactly are you?”

“Nobody,” Marina said impatiently, waving a hand, “not the point, now are you going to –”

“You want me to hand over part of Voldemort’s soul so that you can give it to his younger self and you won’t even explain who you are?” Hermione interrupted, eyes narrowing.

“I already said he’s not young Voldemort!” Marina said angrily.

“Then what is he?”

“Dumbledore seriously didn’t tell you anything?” said Marina with equal parts exasperation and ire.

Hermione’s brows shot up. “You knew Dumbledore?” she asked in an entirely different tone.

“’Course I did,” grumbled Marina, crossing her arms too.

Hermione assessed her for a moment. “Why should I trust you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Why should you trust me?” Marina repeated coolly. “Well, let’s see, I almost died just now fighting in this bloody war, I was very nearly murdered by Voldemort himself a while back, I’ve faced up against dementors, Horcruxes, basilisks, and bloody Death Eaters even though I’m a goddamn Muggle who can’t do much more than chat shit and throw punches, I’ve been tortured, starved, thrown through time way too many fucking times, my best friend is dead on the ground over there and I’ve been trying to solve these fucking Horcruxes since 1991. Do you need more reasons?”

Hermione stared at her.

“Oh Dumbledore once said he had ‘every faith in me’,” Marina added with bitter sarcasm. “I suppose that trumps everything else, right?”

Hermione took a long, strained breath, chewing at her bottom lip with visible indecision – just like Marina did when she was stressed. At the sight of the familiar mannerism mirrored back at her, Marina’s frustration was snuffed out so quickly that she felt cold. She dragged her hands down her face, trying not to cry when the image of Charlie’s pale, dead face immediately filled the blackness behind her closed eyes.

“Look,” she muttered, ignoring the way her voice trembled, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t yell at you… I’m sorry.” She lowered her hands curtly and met Hermione’s gaze. “I know you don’t know me, and you have every reason to be suspicious, but you’ve got to trust that we can do this. That _he_ can do this.” Marina looked over at Tom again and found his dark eyes on her, watching their conversation from across the Hall with an impenetrable expression. “It’ll work if he touches it,” she said quietly.

“What’ll work?” Hermione pressed carefully.

“Remorse is the only thing that can heal a Horcrux,” said Marina said, wrenching her eyes away from Tom, “but he needs to touch it.”

Hermione arched a brow and glanced at Tom herself. “He regrets the things he’s done?” she asked coolly.

“Technically _he_ didn’t do them,” Marina said, rubbing her eye with the heel of her palm. “You could say that he regrets the things that Voldemort has done.”

“So _he’s_ never killed anyone?” Hermione said at once.

Marina’s stomach dropped, but there was no use lying. “He was responsible for Myrtle’s death,” she said dully, “he opened the Chamber of Secrets in 1943.”

Hermione huffed a cynical laugh and levelled her with a glacial look. “And you want me to trust him?”

“Dumbledore did,” Marina said stiffly.

“Dumbledore wasn’t always right about everything."

Marina looked at her in surprise. “Finally something we can agree on,” she said slowly.

Hermione seemed to reassess her. “What’s your name?” she asked carefully.

“Marina.”

She held out her hand. “Hermione.”

Marina shook it, giving her a brief smile. “Yeah, I know.”

Hermione gave her a curious look but didn’t push it. They both re-crossed their arms at the exact same time. “Dumbledore told Harry that the other Horcruxes had been destroyed,” Hermione said suspiciously.

“I’m sure he did,” said Marina very flatly, “I suppose it’s not technically untrue, in a sense of the word.”

“But you’re saying that _he_ healed them,” Hermione said with a pointed nod in Tom’s direction.

“Yeah.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“If you go get the cup, I can show you.”

Hermione peered at her. “Why do you think I don’t have it?”

“If you did then Tom would have collapsed when you were over there,” Marina jerked her head behind them. “He can’t get close to them without it pretty severely messing him up.”

Hermione was biting her lip again, and Marina held her breath, waiting.

“Fine,” said Hermione curtly, drawing her wand.

Marina nodded and caught Tom’s eye again – it wasn’t hard, he still hadn’t looked away from her. She waved him over and he immediately approached them.

“So you’re Tom Riddle,” Hermione said in a sharp voice the second he came to a halt beside Marina.

“I am,” he replied smoothly.

“Voldemort’s heir.”

Marina shot her a look and she sighed reluctantly. “Not his heir, then. His… antecedent.”

“I used to be,” said Tom softly.

Hermione was watching him like a hawk. “If I give you Hufflepuff’s cup, you can fix it? Destroy the Horcrux?”

Tom nodded.

Very slowly and with no shortage of apprehension, Hermione took hold of the small, beaded bag slung over her shoulder and reached inside. “I did have it,” she said quietly to Marina, “but the charm on this means that it’s really quite far away…”

After a long moment of rummaging around that was entirely disproportionate to the size of the little bag, Hermione drew from its depths a small, simple golden chalice with a badger embossed into its side, a single black onyx eye glittering up at them.

Tom immediately collapsed.

Marina only just managed to get her arm around him before he hit the floor, his head rolling forward as his face crumpled in pain and his breath came out choked and stilted. Marina staggered under his sudden weight and slowly lowered him to his knees, glancing up at Hermione. “If you’re going to do this, do it fast,” she said grimly, “this isn’t exactly a pleasant experience.”

Hermione – looking very alarmed at Tom’s reaction – thrust the cup out towards her.

Marina blinked and took it. “Thanks,” she said frankly, before looking to Tom. “I’ve got it – are you ready for this?”

Tom choked out a laugh and looked up at her. “Is that – one of your jokes?” he managed to get out.

“No,” Marina said with a fragile flicker of smile, “You know me, Tom, I’d never make a joke at such a serious moment.”

He gave her as dry a look as he seemed able to muster through the waves of pain, and then squinted up at Hermione. “How are you – with healing magic?” he said through laboured breaths.

“Adept,” she said at once.

“Try to – wake me up – quickly.”

“What about Pomfrey?” Hermione said hastily, looking around for the matron.

Tom shook his head wordlessly as his eyes shut tightly and his head dropped again.

Marina sighed tensely through her nose. “Pomfrey’s got enough on her plate,” she muttered. “He won’t want to pull her away from them.” She nodded at the platform where Pomfrey was removing a splintered piece of wood the length of a chair leg from a student’s thigh.

Hermione’s gaze lingering appraisingly on Tom’s pained face. “I’ll do what I can,” she said slowly.

An unhealthy sweat had appeared on Tom’s skin and he looked like he was on the brink of either passing out or vomiting as he stared down at the little golden cup in Marina’s hand.

“Tom,” Marina murmured.

His eyes flashed from the cup to her face and Marina recognised the fear she’d seen there a million years ago when he’d been about to reach for the diadem in Albania, a million years ago when he’d just been a kid, when she’d still believed that she could stop the war, before all the death and the pain, before she’d lost everything but him.

“You can do this,” she said calmly, and in that moment she knew that it was true. She couldn’t bear for it to be anything else.

He nodded slowly, not looking away. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Marina lifted the cup but still he didn’t look away, his eyes fixed on hers as he reached out and brushed his fingers against the cup’s golden surface.

Tom pitched forward with a choking breath as blood erupted from his lips, splattering over the stone floor and up Marina’s jeans. The cup clanged loudly to the floor as she dropped it to catch him but unexpectantly he managed to stay kneeling before her; he was grasping at her blindly, drawing ragged breaths and pale as a sheet – but he was conscious.

“Hey,” Marina said loudly as blood started to stream in a thick line from his nose, “hey it’s okay, I’m right here.” She looked up at Hermione who was wide-eyed and ashen. “That healing magic would be real good about now!”

“Right,” Hermione gasped, pointing her wand at Tom’s face. “Vilumea!”

It didn’t seem to have an effect. “Got anything else?” Marina said through gritted teeth, watching as Tom heaved and more blood spilled over his lips and down onto Hufflepuff’s cup on the ground between them.

Hermione crouched beside them and started muttering charms in a ceaseless stream, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Tom,” said Marina, lifting his face with one hand. “Can you hear me?”

Tom’s hands balled into fists of her jumper where he was gripping her shoulders, his jaw tight and his eyes firmly shut. Blood was still pouring from his nose and she could see it coming from his ears too. He looked in agony, and Hermione’s muttered spells grew even more hurried.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Marina said, trying to sound confident in the face of her trembling resolve. “Please, Tom.” Her voice broke. “Please be okay.”

Hermione cast a spell that glowed with a strange grey light and then sat back, watching for Tom’s reaction. Marina’s heart pounded loud and panicked in the sudden silence, holding her breath and not daring to even blink – and then Tom slowly opened his eyes. Marina gave a strangled laugh of relief as she leaned closer, not even slightly caring about the blood on his face as she pressed their foreheads together. “Oh my god, Tom, oh my god that was – holy _shit_ …”

She couldn’t stop touching him, his cheeks, his jaw, his shoulders, and slowly he managed to calm his breathing and meet her gaze. There was a beat of silence.

“Hello,” Tom murmured tiredly.

“Hi,” Marina said automatically, staring at him wide-eyed.

“That… wasn’t so bad,” he said, wincing slightly. “Certainly easier than the others.”

 _“That_ wasn’t bad?” Hermione said in disbelief beside them.

“The first time he had a seizure and his heart stopped,” Marina said grimly.

Hermione looked at Tom aghast but he wasn’t paying attention, already pulling his wand from his pocket and wearily charming away some of the blood coating his hands and face. When he was done his hand dropped in exhaustion and he leaned forward with a fatigued exhale, his forehead falling against Marina's shoulder.

“You okay?” she said quietly against his hair.

He nodded without a word, turning his face into her neck as his arms slowly laced around her waist.

“Hermione?”

Marina glanced up to see a very tall, very lanky teenage boy with flaming red Weasley hair and dark shadows under his red, swollen eyes. He was giving her and Tom a very bemused look and turned to Hermione questioningly.

“I better go explain,” Hermione muttered as she stood, taking Ron by the arm and leading him away quickly.

Marina watched them go for a moment, captivated by the impossibility of who she was looking at before her attention was pulled back by Tom’s voice.

“I thought you were dead,” he murmured into her shoulder.

She froze.

“When I saw you lying there, I thought you were dead,” he continued, sounding exhausted. “You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere, and you were so pale, and when I touched you your skin was cold, and…”

Tom trailed off, and after a moment he slowly lifted his head. Under the weight of his gaze, Marina suddenly felt like she might cry again.

“Marina,” he said softly. “I –”

“Harry Potter is dead,” Voldemort said, his voice deafening and inescapable. There were screams across the Hall and heads jolted up, looking around in fear. “He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

Marina’s skin felt electrified. She had lost track of time, not been paying attention to what was going on around her, not realised that in the time she’d been unconscious, or at Charlie’s side, or with Tom and the cup that Harry had most likely slipped up to Dumbledore’s office and watched Snape’s memories, stolen from the school and into the forest.

She looked at Tom, still pale, blood drying at his nose, his hair half-plastered to his forehead and his eyes wide as he stared back at her.

"The battle is won,” said Voldemort, “you have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

The Hall erupted into chaos, cries and shouts, frantic movement as people stumbled for the door, unwilling and unable to believe what they had been told.

“He did it,” Marina said numbly. “He… he really did it.”

Tom’s jaw went tight and his head fell, staring hard at the golden cup on the floor between them, still spattered with his blood. Harry would be alive, Marina knew that much – but Tom’s soul would never be complete. Even if they somehow figured out a way to rob Voldemort of his fraction, Tom would be forever trapped in Limbo upon his death.

“We should go too,” said Tom quietly.

“Tom…”

“Let’s go,” he interrupted sharply, forcing himself to his feet and stumbling a bit.

“Tom – wait –”

But he seized her hand and led her with the crowd streaming out onto the steps of the school. Marina glowered at the back of his head and twisted her forearm hard, breaking his hold before they even left the Hall. He rounded on her at once. “What?” he demanded coldly.

Marina gestured in exasperation. “What’s the plan? What are we doing?”

“There is no plan,” Tom hissed, stepping forward. “Part of my soul is destroyed, Marina, there is nothing left for us to do. We’re done.”

“No,” she whispered.

“No?” he repeated, eyes narrowing.

“We’ve got to do something.”

“Kill the snake,” Tom said harshly, “and then kill me.”

“That’s not going to happen!”

“Marina, it’s over.”

“It’s not!”

“Marina.”

“NO!”

The scream hadn’t come from her, but it might has well have. McGonagall’s anguish was drowned out by others shouting too, by Bellatrix’s terribly familiar laugh, Voldemort’s scream for silence, and a hollow, resounding bang that echoed over the mountains like a gunshot.

“We need to go,” Tom said quietly.

Marina felt her chin trembling and pursed her lips hard to stop it, her eyes sliding past Tom as she turned and looked back at the quiet Hall behind them. The ceiling above showed the black night sky, the dusted stars jarringly beautiful and fringed with billowing grey clouds far above a hundred flickering candles, their little tear-drop flames casting a warm glow Marina couldn’t feel. She stared at the line of bodies, seeing Charlie, seeing – her chest clenched and crumpled – Remus and Tonks.

She’d wanted to stand in this Hall since she was five years old but in that moment she felt nothing but the strangest sense of betrayal. Hogwarts had been a promise that there was something more waiting, some distant place to be swept away to where things were mysterious and magical and alive, where impossible things were common place, where she could be safe and happy and home. As she looked upon the dead, the dust and the rubble, Marina felt the realisation slide into place. Magic or not, Hogwarts was just another place. Voldemort had broken its walls, brought death into its sanctuary, blind to the depths of the pain he’d born.

She turned back to Tom. Tom who was still there waiting for her, Tom who had been through it all with her, standing there together in the only place Tom had ever called home and where Marina had once kept her hope. Voldemort had consumed them both, stolen Marina’s life, destroyed Tom’s soul, torn apart home and hope alike.

And yet, through it all, there they stood together.

“He can’t have you,” Marina whispered. “He doesn’t get to take you, too.”

The smallest frown appeared on his face and he stepped closer, pulling from his pocket a thin golden chain from which hung the gleaming Wardore that Moody had given her a million, million years ago. She stared at it as Tom gently placed it around her neck and took her face in his hands.

“He can’t have you either,” he said quietly.

Marina nodded, unable to speak. Tom lowered a hand and she took it, warmth spreading across her skin as they laced their fingers together like he himself was a phoenix flint, and together they turned towards the roaring crowd and Voldemort beyond.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  I started writing this the second I posted the last chap and have deadass been working on it every day since. Was a toughie for sure, but these last few might take a bit of extra time since I've been building certain things up for ages and really want to get everything right!  
>  We are (I think) 2 to 3 chapters from the end...  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


	46. The Battle of Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  _Content warning: blood, violence._  
>  °•. ✿ .•°

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

 **VOLDEMORT STOOD WITH** Nagini around his shoulders at the steps of the Castle, leering down at a boy standing before him. “If that is your choice, Longbottom,” he breathed, “we revert to the original plan. On your head be it.”

Voldemort’s wand struck out towards the school and Marina knew without seeing that he’d summoned the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. She glanced up at Tom to find him still pale and tense, his lips pressed in a firm line and his hair stuck to his forehead. “We have to get to Nagini,” she murmured.

He nodded, eyes fixed on Voldemort as he taunted Neville. “Getting close to him won’t be easy,” he said, jaw tense. “He’ll know about my betrayal by now.”

“He can’t kill you,” Marina frowned, “it would only be hurting himself.”

“He can do a lot without killing me,” Tom said darkly.

The crowd suddenly screamed and Marina looked around in alarm to find Neville standing with the hat aflame on his head, saw people edging forward to try to help only to be met with an impenetrable line of Death Eaters with their wands drawn forcing them back –

But something was happening.

Marina looked down, frowning. The rubble strewn across the steps was trembling, shivering and shifting as the very ground beneath them began to shake, and over the screams of the crowd there was an almighty, thunderous roar in the distance.

It was getting louder.

Up the hill towards the castle charged a crowd unlike anything Marina had ever seen.

Creatures of every form imaginable ran as one; they were spearheaded by galloping centaurs with bows drawn taut and aimed directly at the Death Eaters, and behind them Marina saw grey-skinned selkies with seal-skins draped around their shoulders wielding tridents and blades of serrated bone, she saw goblins with gleaming daggers and swords bearing their sharp, needle teeth, she saw what must be dwarves with braided beards and heavy war-hammers, a swarm of tiny beings with bright red hair and backwards-facing feet clutching spears and feathered shields, and above them all flew Veela and Harpies with their talons brandished, screaming in wrath.

And still more came.

Behind the creatures was a wave of witches and wizards united in a single, wordless cry of battle, the rainbow of robes revealing the diversity of their origins – the pale blue silk of Beauxbatons, the blood red of Durmstrang, Mahoutokoro with their robes folded across their chest, Koldovstoretz with their thick fur trims, Castelobruxo, Ilvermorny, Uagadou –

Marina suddenly remembered what Ollivander had said of Harry and the others in Muriel’s house. “He travelled far,” she whispered, watching as the army swarmed up the hill and around chunks of stone the size of houses scattered across the grass. All at once it became painfully obvious what Harry had been doing for the past year. He’d united them all against Voldemort, convinced witch, wizard, creature and being to put aside all else and fight together.

Harry’s army had finally arrived.

Chaos erupted. Giants three stories tall rounded the Castle drawing back their mammoth clubs with hollow roars, swinging them into the oncoming army and sending bodies flying, Death Eaters swivelled around and let loose a storm of curses so bright that Marina had to turn away from the burning lights, spears streaked through the sky, arrows whistled to a sick thud when they met their target, and the crowd on the steps of Hogwarts bellowed as they charged forward as one towards the distracted Death Eaters.

Voldemort’s face was twisted in fury and hatred as he wheeled around deflecting spear, arrow, and curse alike in a ferocious flurry, and Marina watched wide-eyed as Neville wrestled the Sorting Hat from his head and from it drew a shining sword with a silver-wrought handle that glittered with rubies –

A searing white curse suddenly streaked past her cheek so close that she felt her skin blister, and Tom sharply tugged her closer. “Stay near me,” he shouted over the roaring crowd.

But Marina was staring in horror at Voldemort who had turned to the school, whose red eyes had fallen upon the two of them left on the stone steps, whose melted face had twisted in hatred at the sight of Tom, at her held in his arms. Voldemort’s wand trained on them and Tom swiftly turned her behind him before stepping forward and lifting his wand to deflect a sickly yellow curse that shot their way. Voldemort sent another, and another, rapid and deadly, and too late did Marina realise that it was a distraction.

Nagini was streaking across the ground towards her moving impossibly quickly for her size, weaving effortlessly through the stampeding battle with her flat, slitted eyes fixed on Marina. No paltry Parseltongue would do anything for her now.

“Tom!” Marina shouted, stepping back in terror.

Tom glanced at her and caught sight of the monstrous snake cresting the bottom of the steps. “Confrigo,” he said sharply, but the spell bounced off Nagini’s scales harmlessly and Voldemort took advantage of his distraction to send forth a swarm of razor sharp, bright white darts that Tom only just managed to block, stumbling back. “Expulso!” he shouted at Nagini – but again the curse ricocheted away.

Marina frantically looked around for something, anything to help her, but there was nothing. Nagini let out a blood-curdling hiss and Marina looked back just in time to see jaws yawning open to reveal vicious fangs, a forked tongue, and an anaemic pink glottis, falling back in terror as the thick, muscular body of the snake struck through the air –

Tom’s arm shot out in front of her as he slid to a halt between her and the snake, and Nagini’s jaws closed on his forearm, her long fangs sinking straight through to his bone.

“TOM!” Marina screamed as he dropped to his knees and canted forward, just barely catching himself with his other palm and Nagini’s body thrashed and writhed, her mouth locked on his forearm as Tom choked in pain.

But Voldemort was screaming too, a wordless shriek of fury because a figure had suddenly appeared beside them and Marina looked up just in time to see Neville with the Sword of Gryffindor lifted high above his head, his face caked in dirt and blood and sweat, his mouth twisted in concentration and strain – and then as if swinging an axe, he brought the blade down upon on Nagini’s neck.

Blind and deaf to the battle around them, Marina scrambled forward and fell to her knees in front of Tom as Neville kicked Nagini’s body aside and rounded on a nearby Death Eater, sword aloft as he charged forward with a frenzied bellow. Marina seized the snake’s jaws and painstakingly pried them apart, grimacing as Tom let out a moan of pain as the fangs slowly slid from his flesh, and Marina could barely look at him for the blood that was once again streaming from his nose, the agony on his face where he was hunched forward, his fingers trembling where they lay limply on the stone before him.

“Tom,” she breathed as she tossed Nagini’s head aside and reached for him, grasping at his shoulders desperately. “Tom!”

But he didn’t respond, his eyes shut and flickering like he was fevered as he hunched over his bitten arm, his other hand holding it in trembling fingers. He’d gone so pale that terror coursed through her and she desperately looked around again – but no one was paying them any attention. Voldemort had disappeared and the battle raged on as if they weren’t even there. She caught glimpses of giants with Harpies swarming around their faces and clawing at their eyes, their thunderous howls of pain so loud that they shook Marina’s chest and made the rubble shift, the ground roiling as they blindly stomped down upon the hordes at their feet. She saw Death Eaters in brutal combat with groups of ashen-faced Professors and students alike, dwarves hacking at the legs of Acromantula with huge axes, a group of students from Mahoutokoro forcing back the legion of gliding dementors with a bounding, luminous guard of Patronuses.

No one was going to help.

Marina looked back at Tom, heart racing as she grit her teeth and glanced back up the stairs towards the school. If she didn’t do something, no one would. “Come on then,” she said with false conviction, grabbing his wand from where it had fallen from his fingers and shoving it into her pocket. “We’ve got to get you inside.”

She slid her arm under Tom’s and tried to force him to stand but he only moaned in pain again, his head falling forward and his skin once more slick with a sickly sweat.

“Come on!” Marina repeated desperately – but her voice trembled and broke. She frowned hard, pressing her lips together hard as she steeled herself against the quivering feeling in her chest. “Get up, Tom,” she commanded angrily, “come on!”

Slowly she managed to stand, only just managing to keep Tom upright as he slumped heavily against her. “Let’s go,” she breathed, fixing her gaze on the doors to the school. One of them had been blown off its hinges and was swinging loosely next to the corpse of a huge Acromantula on its back with six remaining legs curled into its segmented stomach.

The first step nearly brought them tumbling to the ground, the strain of lifting Tom up the stair nearly collapsing Marina’s thighs – but she did not fall. Jaw tight and refusing to look away from the doors in front of her, Marina took the next step, and then the next, her legs burning by the time they finally, _finally_ reached the top of the stairs.

“Nearly there,” she told him firmly, not daring to look at his face – her shoulder was wet with his blood and he wasn’t stepping with her at all anymore, his feet dragging and his head hanging limply as she heaved him through the doors. “Come on, nearly there!”

Inside the Castle the battle continued, tiny House-elves brandishing knives and screaming in fury, Death Eaters duelling Hogwarts students, the briefest recognition as she glanced someone who must be Flitwick – and that must be Professor Sprout – and Slughorn –

Pomfrey was in the corner of the Great Hall leaning over a young girl who was frozen solid in a body-bind so firm that not even her clothes were moving, and Marina’s arms trembled with the promise of relief as she hauled Tom around in her direction.

“Pomfrey!” she bellowed when they were close enough to be heard.

The matron looked up and went white at the sight of them stumbling towards her. “What happened to him?” she cried in alarm as Marina finally crumpled in exhaustion in front of her.

“Nagini bit him,” she gasped, “and he healed another Horcrux –”

“A _what?”_ Pomfrey demanded as she seized Tom’s shoulders, pulling him from Marina and pointing her wand at his face.

“His soul!” Marina said frantically. “It’s his soul!”

Pomfrey’s face went tight and she started casting spells so quickly that her wand seemed to glow ceaselessly.

Marina coughed hard as she collapsed to the side, exhausted. She’d made it. She’d gotten him to her, but the shouts and screams from around her were so loud, the blasts and the cries of pain, the ground trembling beneath her, everything was too much –

And then without a single second of warning, the Great Hall exploded.

Stone bricks showered the room over screams of alarm and panic, and Pomfrey seized her, pulling her down with her as Marina frantically tried to shield her head, rubble crashing around them as dust engulfed the air. Something monstrously huge had erupted through the far wall and surged into the Hall with a shrieking, skin-scrawling roar that made Marina’s blood run cold because she recognised that sound, the dry sound of scales sliding on rock –

Voldemort’s cold, high laugh echoed around the room as the basilisk struck out, seizing three people between its jaws and throwing them screaming across the Hall, its burning yellow eyes collapsing those who looked up around at the creature, dead before they hit the ground.

“What is that?” Pomfrey gasped, lifting her head.

“No!” Marina shouted, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back down. “Don’t look! It’s a basilisk!”

The basilisk shrieked again and Marina shivered involuntarily – it sounded like metal tearing. The Castle rumbled as the snake struck again, its huge jaws closing around a centaur bellowing in terror.

Marina looked down at Tom, utterly still, skin pale and blood-smeared, his head falling to the side where he lay and his dark hair in tangles. The only person in the world who might stand a chance at stopping the basilisk and he was lying unconscious before her.

“Can you heal him?” she shouted at Pomfrey over the chaos behind them – stone shattered as the basilisk’s tail crashed into a wall, people wailing in fear and pain as they were flung through the air, the horrible thuds and sudden silence as they slammed into the ground and against the walls. “He might be able to stop it!”

Pomfrey nodded in determination and leaned over him again, and Marina chanced a glance behind her, eyes trained carefully on the floor. The basilisk was reared up by the far wall where the Slytherin table lay in splintered ruins, Voldemort stood beneath it casting curses at anyone nearby. There was a strange symmetry to the way they both moved, striking out suddenly and viciously, whipping around to each opponent, deadly speed and exact precision.

“This is not good,” Pomfrey said sharply, drawing Marina’s attention.

“What? What’s wrong? Won’t he wake up?” Marina demanded at once, looking quickly at Tom. His skin was sallow and feverish, his eyelids shadowed as if bruised; he looked like he was dying.

“It’s the venom!” Pomfrey shouted as the basilisk roared again, tipping a phial of something between Tom’s still lips. “The bite will not heal! If I wake him he will only be in pain!”

Fear cloyed in Marina as she saw the basilisk’s tail swat a Veela from the air, slamming her screaming into the wall. Tom wouldn’t wake, and nothing anyone was doing was slowing the basilisk down, people falling dead on the spot as they were caught in its lethal gaze and it went on and on, the battle growing frantic and desperate –

“VOLATILIS LUTUM!”

Marina’s head whipped around to see Ginny with her wand pointed at the basilisk’s head, her expression fierce as she stared safely at the scales of its tail. The basilisk shrieked and reared back, its head swinging violently as the huge, winged forms of pale bats clawing their way from its nose and swarmed around it, screeching and calling in shrill shrieks. They clawed at its face, its scales, its eyes, and blood splattered across the wall beside Marina as the basilisk’s head swung in a huge arch, screaming.

It had been blinded.

Voldemort’s fury was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as they realised the shift in the tide, and Ginny charged forward with Hermione and a girl that _must_ be Luna, wands aloft. The basilisk tried to strike out at them, just barely missing them as its nose buried instead in the flagstone floor, fracturing beneath the impact.

“NEVILLE!” Ginny bellowed. “THE SWORD!”

Neville wheeled around from behind her where he’d been swinging at the legs of an Acromantula, took one look at the snake’s head buried in the floor and threw Ginny the gleaming silver sword, its ruby hilt anchoring it downwards as it arched perfectly upright through the air. Ginny seized it and wheeled around, drawing it back without hesitation and drove it directly into the basilisk’s red, weeping eye-socket.

With a shriek that made Marina clamp her hands over her ears in pain, the basilisk reared back, twitching and writing in the air violently, and then with a thud that send bricks tumbling to the ground from the shattered hole in the wall behind it, the monstrous snake fell to the floor, dead. Ginny stood over it, blood dripping off her silver blade, splattered up her arm and across her face, glaring down at it as her chest heaved with hard breaths, her mouth a hard line.

Any elation was immediately cut short as Marina saw Bellatrix round on Ginny over the sounds of her master screaming in fury, her beautiful face wrought with hatred as she lifted her wand and a killing curse made Ginny duck. Luna and Hermione quickly joined her, but Marina could see the struggle in their faces as the battle resumed as furiously as before.

She wheeled around back to Tom, still unconscious and unmoving on the floor, her hands going to his face as she tilted him towards her. “Tom,” she said breathlessly. “Tom!”

“The bite will not heal,” Pomfrey said sharply, still working at a blistering pace. “None of my spells are working.”

Marina blinked, her eyes returning to Tom’s pale, blood-smeared face. “He knows a spell,” she whispered.

“What?”

“He knows a spell!” she shouted, gesturing at him. “He made it up – some spell that heals bites, he used it on me! Maybe it’ll work on –!”

Pomfrey’s wand went to Tom’s chest without hesitation. “Expergo Maxima.”

Tom’s eyes flew open and he sat up with a ragged breath like someone had seized him by the collar and yanked him upright.

“Tom, heal the bite,” Marina commanded, forcing his wand into his unaffected hand.

“Wh – what –” he choked, looking around.

“Tom!” she said loudly, grabbing his shoulder. His wide eyes fell upon her. “You need to heal your arm!”

Tom looked down and seemed to notice his torn, blood-soaked robes for the first time, staring in horror at his arm cradled in his lap. His lips went tight again, and he pointed his wand at the two weeping holes peeking through the tears in his sleeve. “Ostanie sana,” he said quietly.

The holes glistened and then closed before their very eyes.

“Amazing,” Pomfrey murmured, staring at where the wound had been. “How did –”

“I’ll explain it later,” Tom interrupted succinctly, “Marina – where is he? Where’s Voldemort?”

“He’s –”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Tom seized Marina’s shoulders and yanked her towards him, the killing curse hitting the exact spot she’d been kneeling beside him mere milliseconds prior. Marina glanced around in terror to find Yaxley striding towards her, his face crumpled in fury, his wand pointed directly at her.

“CRUCIO!”

Tom and Marina lurched to the side to avoid the curse, and Marina realised all at once that Yaxley wasn’t paying the slightest attention to Tom, his resentment crystallised on her. She pushed at Tom’s arms, trying to get him to let her go – but he only held her tighter.

“What are you doing?” he demanded quickly.

“He’s after me!” Marina shouted, looking around to see Yaxley drawing his wand back to strike again. “Tom – let me go –”

“SECULUS!”

Tom’s panicked eyes were wrenched from Marina’s face as his wand cut through the air just in time to deflect the curse, only for him to immediately fall back onto his forearms from the effort, panting heavily as blood oozed from his nose.

“You’ve taken on two Horcruxes in less than an hour!” Marina said frantically, scrambling to her feet, finally free. “Stay down!”

“Marina!” Tom gasped, looking up at her as he grimaced in pain, swaying as he tried to reach for her. “No! Stay close to –”

But she’d already turned to Yaxley, quickly ducking under the curse soaring towards her, heart beating rapidly.

She was ready.

Yaxley’s expression flickered with surprise as Marina stepped quickly towards him, determined and angry, but he lifted his wand once more and a searing red curse streaking through the air towards her. Marina ducked to the side without slowing down like she was dodging a punch, but Yaxley had already sent a sweeping wave of flames her way. Marina’s heart caught in her throat but then she felt a glowing warmth on her skin beneath her shirt, the Wardore letting the flames glance off her harmlessly. Yaxley looked confused for the briefest second before his face crumpled into hatred, and his curses started flying so quickly that Marina could barely duck them, feeling some land with dull thuds against her skin, the Wardore burning almost painfully hot against her skin as she pushed forward relentlessly, as Yaxley tried to curse her back, until finally –

The Wardore exploded beneath her shirt but it didn’t matter because she closed the final distance between them and seized his forearm in her hand.

Marina lifted her leg swiftly and swung hard into his knee joint, immediately pulling back and slamming the edge of her foot into his stomach as she pulled hard on his forearm to draw him even more into the impact. He crumpled forward but she just stepped in closer, swinging her whole body around to smash her elbow into his face, pulling it back and jamming it in again hard, and then again. Bleeding heavily, Yaxley stumbled backwards, his mouth oozing red as he tried to train his wand on her again. “AVADA –”

Marina’s hand shot out and she punched him viciously in the throat. He choked on his own curse and stumbled back again, bending double.

“Filth, you called me,” Marina breathed, following him. He glanced up at her and she swiftly lifted her leg again, driving her hip forward as she kicking him hard in the face. Yaxley canted backwards, holding his jaw in dazed shock as he stared up at her with wide eyes. “A parasite, am I?” she whispered.

She seized his head in her hands and yanked it forward, slamming her knee into his nose and feeling it break with a sickening thrill of satisfaction. Marina kicked him hard in the chest and Yaxley fell backwards, blood streaming from his broken face as he struggled to look up at her. His wand was still in his hand and he desperately pointed it at her.

Marina’s other leg swung around so fast that the moment her foot slammed into his hand, Yaxley’s wand went flying.

There was fear in his eyes when he looked up at her next.

“Clearly,” Marina quoted icily, standing above him, “having a wand has instilled you with a false sense of importance.” When she stepped closer Yaxley tried to shuffle back, and another thrill shot through her. “This must be rectified,” she whispered.

She kicked him so hard in the face with the flat of her foot that he was unconscious before his head smacked the ground, his face broken and bloodied, and he moved no more.

Breathing heavily, skin electrified and drunk on adrenaline, Marina turned back to Tom.

He was exactly where she’d left him, propped up on his forearms by the wall, staring at her blankly. She approached him quickly, suddenly very aware that with the Wardore gone she was vulnerable to any curse or hex that might whizz by, and when she came to a stop before him, he just looked up at her for a moment.

“You know,” Tom said evenly, eyes dropping to Yaxley’s crumpled, broken form behind her, “I do forget that you can do that.”

Marina smirked and held out her hand. Tom took it and she pulled him to his feet, frowning when he stumbled slightly. “Are you alright?” she asked slowly, scrutinising him.

“I’m not sure,” he muttered distractedly, eyes flickering as he swayed where he stood. “I – I don’t feel…” One of Tom’s hands had come up to his head like he was trying to physically hold back the dizziness.

But a scream unlike anything Marina had ever heard wrought the air and they both wheeled around to see Bellatrix falling backwards, Mrs Weasley’s face ferocious with her wand still outstretched, and Voldemort looked on with incomparable wrath, his own wand wheeling around –

“PROTEGO!”

And suddenly, just like that, there he was.

Standing in the middle of the hall as the Shield Charm cleft Voldemort’s curse in two was a teenage boy with a mess of black hair and circular glasses that made Marina’s heart lurch with some mix of recognition, nostalgia, disbelief, and awe.

Across his forehead, even from a distance, she could see a scar shaped like a lightning bolt.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .•° ✿ °•.  
>  The penultimate chapter...  
>  We're nearly there folks...  
>  (😭)  
>  Also, catch me frantically googling if snakes even have snot mid-way through writing this chapter in a mad panic to make sure that Ginny’s curse would actually work on the fucking basilisk (they do, I’m off the hook).  
>  And hey if anyone wants to get on my dick about Dumbledore knowingly leaving a basilisk under the school when he technically had Tom who could open the Chamber and kill the thing, listen... I think both of us know that that’s something Dumbledore would do. That mf hired a Death Eater, a quack, a government shill, and literal Voldemort on the back of a dude’s head in the space of five years, as well as running a blood-sport death tournament for children, keeping a three-headed monster dog in the school without telling any of the parents, and deadass not even sending people home the moment he knew that the Chamber of Secrets was opened again even tho the last time a kid literally died.  
>  Also it made for a cool scene in the final battle so…… handle it 😎.  
>  °•. ✿ .•°


End file.
